Mine
by Marrilyn
Summary: Elena's life is turned upside down when her parents present her with a slave. Damon is rude, arrogant, and refuses to follow simple rules. Elena is supposed to be the one to punish him, but falls for him instead. Owning a man has never felt so good, especially one as beautiful as him. There is thin line between a blessing and a curse, but the question is: which one is he? D/E AU.
1. Happy Birthday – Here's Your Man

**Hi! Welcome to my story! Hope you will enjoy it!**

**You will recognize some lines from the show. I incorporated them where I felt they fit just right.**

**Disclaimer: I don't condone violence (unless it's consensual, but that's a whole different story), slavery, nor corporal punishment. Everything you will read about here is fictional, a product of my twisted, perverted, dirty mind which enjoys watching (and reading about) Damon Salvatore suffer. Thank you.**

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><p><em>He's so tall and handsome as hell<em>

_He's so bad, but he does it so well_

_I can see the end as it begins_

_My one condition is_

_~ Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift_

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><p><strong>~ Happy Birthday – Here's Your Man ~<strong>

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><p>I was never one to own slaves. Seriously, one look at me and you could easily tell slavery wasn't my thing. All my so called friends often bragged about things they made their slaves do for them, laughed at the pranks they pulled on them just so they could humiliate their already pitiful lives. But me? I was the exception; the pariah; the girl everyone hung out with just because her parents happened to be two of the wealthiest people in town.<p>

When I think about it, I wouldn't even call those people my friends. They were everything but. They were cruel to people who least deserved it, people who I always felt sorry for whenever they happened to be mentioned in a conversation because I knew their mere existence would be ridiculed only two sentences in.

Yeah, slavery is a thing in my world. A big thing. Everyone, from the poorest to the richest, owns a slave or two. You're a loser if you don't.

And I don't. Not even one.

How is it that I'm one of the popular girls in school then, you might ask? Well, my wealthy parents, of course. If not for them, no one would even look at me. Okay, so there were some people who shared my dislike of slavery and enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed theirs, but those were a minority. Most of the rich, popular kids despised me, and I despised them just as much, if not more.

I was often a target of jokes about my anti-slavery attitude, but I didn't mind it. Not in the slightest. Okay, so maybe I did hate it a little bit, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.

My parents often sided with the bullies, saying my battle against such values was futile and doing their best to shut down every attempt I made at supporting the enslaved. There were many arguments between us, lots of bad words were spoken and plates (and other fragile items) shattered, but nothing they could say ever changed my mind. They even tried taking me to a store to choose a slave for myself, but all their attempts ended with me storming off and sleeping over at a friend's house for a few days, until I felt calm enough to face them without feeling the need to drive a stake into their hearts.

And believe me, I _was_ tempted.

After countless of fights my parents finally agreed to let it go. They were still ashamed to tell people their almost-eighteen year old daughter still owned no slave on her own so they made up lots of bullshit excuses for my "attitude", but at least they stopped bothering me about it. It did slip them at times, but now they had enough decency to apologize and change the subject at the mere sight of my death glare directed at them (even though I know those _slips,_ as they called them, were purely intentional, but whatever).

So imagine my surprise when I walked into my home after a particularly tiresome day at school, only to discover my _ever-so-tolerant_ parents in company of a man who looked like he wanted to be everywhere but here.

"Welcome home, Elena," my mom said in an overly sweet voice, too sweet for my liking. It was the kind of voice she used whenever she did something she knew was against every fiber of my being and wanted me to be happy about it anyways. It used to work when I was six. Now? Not so much.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart!" dad said, his voice as sweet as mom's, if not sweeter. This meant trouble. I didn't like it. Not one bit.

It was finally happening. Today I turned eighteen and entered the world of adults (well, sort of). This meant my parents didn't have a say in what I do anymore, that I didn't have to put up with their bullshit as much as I used to, that I can go wherever I want, whenever I want. I was finally free. Too bad I owned no house nor money, so I was stuck in this stupid household with people I couldn't hate more if I wanted to.

The birthday cake was on the table behind them, looking ever-so-glamourous. It looked more like a wedding cake than a birthday one. Everything for their little princess Elena. God, how I despised them.

"Look what we bought you," mom said, pointing to the back. I looked back to the cake and even allowed myself to smile. True, it looked beyond ridiculous, but there was no doubt it was tasty as hell. My parents maybe enjoyed their wealth a bit too much and bought the most inappropriate birthday cakes ever, but boy, did they make sure they taste the best.

"I can't wait to try it," I said in my most bored tone ever. The truth is, I wanted the cake. I haven't eaten much at school and I was starving.

"Not the cake, sweetheart," said dad. "Him."

"Oh."

_Oh,_ indeed. I finally took a good look at the man they bought for me and I gotta admit, he was gorgeous. He had the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. His mess of a hair was the darkest shade of black, and his body, clad in expensive clothes no doubt my parents bought to make him seem presentable, reeked of sensuality and grace I'd never seen a slave possess. He was, in one word, marvelous. If I was into slavery, I would've totally chosen this one.

Only now he was chosen for me.

"I take it you like him?" mom asked, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"You bought me a man?" I asked, still in awe over the charisma that reeked out this beauty who hadn't even uttered a single word yet, though his looks implied such sweetness and kindness that my heart couldn't help but skip a beat. I was tempted to use the word _slave,_ but I couldn't do that to him. I didn't want to humiliate him more than he clearly already was.

"We bought you a _slave,_ yes," mom stated, not able to resist the urge to correct me.

The slave boy twitched at the title he was referred as, and his beautiful eyes turned to the floor as if searching for comfort. I instantly felt sorry for him. There was just something about him that made me sensitive, the urge to defend him grew stronger and stronger by the second. I've never felt that way for a slave before, especially one I've never even spoken to.

"I can't believe this! You know what I think about this!" I said a bit harsher than I should have.

Mom and dad stared daggers at me, their glares threatening violence. They didn't want me embarrassing them in front of a _meaningless_ slave, especially not _over_ him. But I didn't care. How dare they buy me a slave for my birthday – my _eighteenth_ birthday, the one that was supposed to set me free? I felt as though my freedom cost someone else theirs and it seemed terribly wrong.

Not only that, I was irresponsible as hell. I wouldn't trust myself with a pet, let alone a human being. What were they thinking?

"We know you're not a minor anymore and we remember what we said. This is our last request for you," dad said. "He's your responsibility now. Your name's in the documents. You're his owner. As an adult, we feel you need to learn responsibility. So here you go. Do with him as you like."

"No!" I exclaimed.

They always said I could do whatever I wanted when I turned eighteen and now they're forcing me to accept this? I guess I could see their point. Many people learn how to take care of children by practicing on slaves. That's how my parents learned to raise my brother and me. They trained on those poor individuals and it felt easier to care for us after learning most tricks by messing up countless of slave lives until they felt ready for children.

They thought it was how it should be. I found it disgusting.

"It's wrong."

"If you don't want him, we'll take him for ourselves. Or give him to Jeremy," mom said.

Blackmail. Nice parenting methods, mom and dad. They knew just what to say to get me to do what they wanted. Jeremy was my brother and one of the most irresponsible people I've met. He was even more irresponsible than me, and that's saying something. He'd had many slaves over the years and he managed to mess every single one of them up.

He forced some to sell drugs for him and got them arrested and punished in public for everyone to see, one girl got knocked up and my parents (respective doctors) arranged for her to have an abortion, only for something to go wrong and cost the poor girl her life, he took one to school with him and forced her to help him cheat on tests and thus she ended up fired and whipped in front of the entire school. Needless to say, he owned no slaves at the moment. Mom and dad allowed him to use theirs, but only under their supervision. Giving this poor man to him would equal death sentence. I couldn't let that happen.

"This is low, even for you," I said after a few silent moments and glared at my parents with such intensity that if looks could kill, they'd drop dead in an instant. I looked over to the slave, whose eyes were still glued to the floor, scared to look me in the eye. It would be wrong to abandon him just like that. At least if I took him I'd know he'd be safe. I would never hurt him.

"We just want what's best for you, sweetheart," dad said with a smile. He grabbed the slave boy by the arm and pushed him toward me a bit too roughly for my liking. "This is Damon. Damon, this is Elena, your new owner."

_Damon._ It was a nice name, rolled off the tongue quite easily. And boy, did it fit him. I forced a smile and extended my hand towards him, waiting for him to shake it. "It's very nice to meet you, Damon." The tone I spoke with was fake, but my words were not. It _was_ nice to meet him. If only it was under better circumstances.

Damon stayed quiet the entire time, not moving a muscle. I could imagine he was scared. I know I would be. Everything was still so new for him and he knew nothing about us, nothing about me. Who knows what he thought of me? Maybe he thought I would abuse him, treat him poorly like most slave owners do. I understood him and didn't mind possible bad thoughts. As soon as he gets to know me, he'll see I'm nothing like those people.

Maybe we could even be friends. I'd like that.

My dad didn't appreciate his silence and pushed him forward again, this time with much more force. Damon fell to his knees, a slight groan he obviously tried to hold back escaping his lips. "Has no one taught you manners, _boy?"_ dad growled and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling at it forcefully. "Can you not greet my daughter? Is that _below_ you?"

Mom let out a slight laugh at the scene, enjoying it a bit too much. I was quick to jump to Damon's defense and push my dad away from him.

"Dad, it's okay. I don't mind. Leave him alone, okay? You said he was mine. _I_ will _punish_ him if necessary." I had to force myself to utter the word _punish._ It didn't feel right, especially since he hadn't done anything wrong.

My parents smiled at me proudly. "I knew you'd find yourself in an owner's role quickly, sweetheart," mom said, looking over to my dad. "See? I told you she could do it."

"Okay, I admit I was wrong. I shouldn't have doubted her."

Then they both looked at me, now more apologetic than ever. I didn't know if this was a bad thing or a good one. "Sweetness, you wouldn't mind if we left now, would you? The thing is, your dad and I have a meeting at the hospital. It's urgent."

Of course it is. It always is. Everything is more urgent than me and my needs. No wonder my brother turned out the way he did with parents such as them. They were rarely at home, busy with hospital work and overtime hours, leaving Jeremy and I to fend for ourselves for most of the time. I hated it when I was a kid, but as I got older, I found that to be a blessing. The less I see of them, the less arguments there'd be.

It did bother me that they had to leave before we even cut the cake, but at least I wouldn't be alone. I had Damon now.

"Of course!" I said a bit over enthusiastically. I couldn't hide the desire to see them gone as soon as possible. "Just go. I'll be fine."

"Goodie. Thank you for understanding!" mom said. "When Jeremy comes home, can you tell him there's leftovers in the fridge?"

"Sure," I replied. _If Jeremy comes home,_ I thought. For most of the time no one even knew where he was.

"Okay. See you later," dad said. We exchanged one last goodbye and then they were gone.

I felt a bit relieved when they left. Not having to put up with them is always a good thing. I turned to Damon, only to see him still on his knees, looking to be in pain. His position seemed very uncomfortable, no doubt it hurt more than I could imagine.

"It's okay. You can get up now. Sorry for making you uncomfortable," I said, offering my hand to help him up. He slapped it away and got up on his own, dusting off his knees. _Rude,_ I thought. But understandable. If I was him, I wouldn't trust me, either.

I decided to get over this little incident. It wasn't worth mentioning. He obviously didn't like me and wanted to be everywhere but in my very presence, and I wanted him to be somewhere else, too. He deserved to have a better home, someone to treat him right. I may not be a cruel person, but I was inexperienced. And inexperience often equaled mistreatment.

"So, Damon, how are you doing?" Seriously? I cannot believe I just asked that. What the hell was wrong with me? "Are you hungry? I can make you something. What's your favorite?"

He snorted and looked me straight in the eye, a look so arrogant and reckless that would earn him at least ten lashes in any other household. I couldn't help but wonder just where my parents got him from. He was probably on sale if this was his normal attitude.

"Don't play nice, girl. You and I both know you don't want me here, so why don't you just cut the crap?" he said, the tone of his voice menacing, even threatening. If he wasn't a slave, I probably wouldn't dare be alone with him. His glance was still on me, challenging me, testing my limits. He knew well enough I could make him regret his words and yet he never stumbled, never let it show he was afraid, his previous fear completely vanished. He obviously hated being a slave, and hated slave owners, and hated me for daring to own him.

I decided to play it cool. No matter what he said, I wouldn't let his words get to me. He would just have to deal with me even if he hates me. If he sees I'm not like the rest, maybe he'll warm up to me. It could just be my humane side, my tendency to always see the good in people. Whatever it was, I knew I wasn't letting go of this one. I may not be the best owner, but I was probably the best he'd ever have.

"Okay, I can see this it going to be a bit difficult. To tell you the truth, I've never had a… _slave_ before." The word still tasted wrong in my mouth, but if he wanted to play, I was in. "You're kinda my first."

"Lucky me," Damon said sarcastically and I rolled my eyes.

"Listen, Damon." I took a step toward him and he flinched, obviously expecting me to strike him. I instantly froze on the spot, guilt stinging like a bitch. He may be playing tough, but he was still a scared little slave. They all are. I just wanted him to learn to trust me. I would do my best to accomplish that. "I just want this to work, that's all. I don't know who owned you before and, honestly, I don't care. I can promise you one thing: I'm not like the others."

"That's what they all say."

"Maybe, but I mean it. The thing is, I hate slavery. In a perfect world, I would set you free right this instant, but I know it doesn't work like that, so like it or not we're stuck with each other. The least we can do is cooperate."

"Funny how you talk about cooperation. You seem to forget one small detail: _I'm_ the slave, _you're_ the mistress. Cooperation doesn't fit into that equation," Damon pointed out. "You may think yourself better than everyone else, but the truth is, you are all the same. Cruel, merciless, downright evil. Punish me all you want, _princess,_ you know I'm telling the truth."

"I'm not going to punish you," I said. It came out more like a promise than a statement.

He smirked. "We'll see about that."

"I guess we will," I agreed. "I want us to be friends."

Another snort. He seemed to be pretty good at those. "Friends? Do you take me for a fool?"

"No!"

Damon walked over to me and got in my face, our noses almost touching, his lips dangerously close to mine. I could feel his warm breath on my cheeks and neck, a sweet scent of mint (I take it my parents made him brush his teeth before my arrival), not a hint of fear in his breathtaking eyes; there was only challenge, desperation for acceptance, confidence in his actions. It felt weird to be so close to him; it was the good kind of weird, the one I sort of enjoyed. His presence was somehow welcome, his closeness needed.

I didn't know why, but in that moment I was grateful he was mine. There was just something about him that screamed desire, and I desired him. He was mine. I wanted him to be mine. No one else's but mine. He belonged to me, and I wished it would stay that way forever. And I had the power to make that wish come true.

"I've changed many homes, many owners," Damon purred. "None could put up with me. They tried to break me, some _almost_ succeeded. Not one _did._ I'm not easily tamed, Miss Gilbert. Don't ever forget that. If you want my friendship, you are going to have to earn it. I don't easily give away what little I have."

"I don't… I mean, I…" Damn. It was this easy for him to reduce me to a bumbling mess. Break him? Just what was done to this poor thing? Whatever it was, I wouldn't do that; not ever. If he wanted me to earn his friendship, then fine. I will. "I accept the challenge."

"Good."

"But listen to me very carefully."

Now it was my turn to get in his face. I could see my reaction startled him and sure thing, his defenses were up again, expecting the worst. There was a slight twitch, almost unnoticeable, and he was back to being a scared man all slaves were, no matter his tough interior. Still, he wasn't willing to give up. He was ready to take whatever I'd give, endure any punishment I'd bestow upon him. Instead, I gently took his hand in mine and looked him in the eye, trying to gain at least a little bit of his trust.

"My patience has its limits. At least try to behave."

"Sure thing, _mistress,"_ he said with a smirk. It was an obvious lie; I knew he'd do his best to make my life a hell and thus bring himself down with me. I was okay with that. I always liked a good challenge. I was scared for him, though. If he got in trouble and I wasn't there to protect him, who knows what could happen?

"Elena is just fine."

"Whatever you say. _Elena."_ He spat my name like it was poison and I resisted the urge to scream out loud. If he was always this obnoxious, I could see why he's changed so many homes.

"Okay," I said, putting up my best smile. "Since it's my birthday, I was wondering if you wanted to celebrate it with me? As you can see, there's no one else here besides us. We have the house to ourselves."

There was his signature smirk again and I realized I'd said the wrong thing. Stupid me.

"I-I mean, we can celebrate together. What do you say? The cake is quite good."

"I don't have a choice, now do I?" he retorted.

There he goes again, making me feel guilty. "Come on, Damon. I told you I want to be your friend. You can say no if you want to."

His only reply was (again) a smirk. I sighed, defeated. We got ourselves seated and ate the chocolate goodness in silence. He seemed really happy in that short period of time, like he wasn't used to getting treats. He probably wasn't, but it's not like he'd share that with me. I, however, felt good. As long as I got to make someone else happy, I was happy, too.

He being my slave will benefit the both of us.

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><p>Nighttime came rather quickly and after taking a shower (and making Damon take one, though it didn't take much persuasion) I confined myself in my room, my new slave boy standing by the window and staring at me, waiting for an answer. He'd asked me where he would be sleeping and I still had no idea where to put him. It seemed wrong to have him sleep in the old shack in the backyard where my parents' slaves slept; that place was old, dirty, and I'm pretty sure I saw rats there the few times I dared to go inside.<p>

I did have an idea of mine, but I wasn't sure Damon would like it. No, I wasn't sure _I_ would like it. He would probably be more than fond of it. I know my parents wouldn't protest since I wasn't a minor anymore and thus they had no say in what I do, and this sort of thing is common in households owning slaves, but I still had my doubts.

Damon wasn't the most obedient slave, but I knew he wouldn't do anything to harm me. My parents, despite not being his owners, still had a right to hurt him is something was to happen to me by his hand, as did everyone else. Slaves were allowed to be punished by everyone who was not one of them – with the master's permission, of course, and mine they'd never get. I knew that. I think a part of him knew that as well. There was nothing to be afraid of.

That didn't mean it wasn't weird as hell.

"How would you like to sleep with me?" I finally said, prompting him to look at me with such gleam in his eyes, as if he's just won a jackpot. He smiled and sat next to me on my bed, but still kept his distance. He may be an ass, but he still respected my boundaries. Well, most of the time.

"I thought you wanted to be friends," he teased, raising an eyebrow.

"You'll be on one side, I'll be on the other," I quickly clarified.

Damon snorted. "You want to get me in trouble, don't you?"

I frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"You're not the first girl proposing these… sleeping arrangements, only to later claim I forced myself on you."

My god, what had they done to him? "You really do have trust issues," I stated.

He rolled his eyes. "It's called experience, Elena."

"Just trust me, okay?"

"Not gonna happen," Damon retorted. He moved over to me, his face once again way too close to mine. "But just so you know, if you try to set me up – as some had in the past – you're gonna wish you didn't."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

"Then _I_ promise _you_ I'm being honest."

"I've heard it before."

I didn't bother commenting on that. I didn't feel like arguing, and to be honest, I found it bothersome to have to come up with a retort to his every statement. We got settled and got into bed, each on their respective side, hoping the dreams would take us over as soon as we closed our eyes. Damon was a nuisance; he was mean, daring, and not afraid to speak his mind. If it was anyone else, I would try to get rid of them as soon as possible.

But with him it was different. For some reason, I wanted him to stay. We may not be on best terms, at least not yet, but there was something charming about him, hidden depths I yearned to explore. In a way he consumed me, made me question everything I knew, his every word provoked something in me that I didn't know was there.

He was mine and mine he'll stay. And mine he shall be forever.

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><p><strong>I can guarantee you that updates will be frequent. All you have to do is show your support by reviewing and magic of new chapters will happen!<strong>

**If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I'll answer the best I can.**


	2. A Chance Is All I Ask

**Oh, my god! You guys are amazing! I never expected such feedback. Big thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, follows, and favs!**

**You can find a link to my Tumblr in my profile. I posted a nice, big cover picture for this story there. You can check it out if you want :)**

**If you see anything wrong with my grammar and/or spelling, please let me know. English isn't my first language and pointing out mistakes could help a lot.**

**For this chapter I suggest you listen to the song The Cure by Jordin Sparks. Seriously, it totally fits the mood.**

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><p><em>Hush, little baby<em>

_Don't you cry_

_Yeah, I know she hurt you_

_But it ain't the end of your life_

_'Cause I'm right here waiting_

_With open arms_

_I know you might feel shattered_

_But love should never bring you harm_

_~ The Cure by Jordin Sparks_

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><p><strong>~ A Chance Is All I Ask ~<strong>

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><p>It's been a month since my parents bought me Damon and I've gotten quite used to him. Yes, he was still that same obnoxious asshole he was when I first saw him, but he was <em>my<em> obnoxious asshole. It's gotten to the point that I've started to feel of him as a part of me, a limb of some sort I cannot even think myself to be detached from. He wouldn't say it, but I knew he felt that way, too.

Once word got out at school that I own a slave, people were much nicer to me and even seemed genuinely interested to be my friends. Even those who made fun of me started to respect me, or at least pretended to respect me. Maybe getting a slave wasn't such a bad thing after all. True, I didn't treat him much like a slave, more like a roommate, but it's the title that counts.

"I see you've been dreaming of me. Explains the drool," Damon said this morning, grinning like a fool he was. I opened my eyes, only to find myself lying on top of him, my head resting on his firm, warm chest. I have to admit, he was very well built for a slave. Most of his body was covered in horrid scars which were undoubtedly inflicted upon him as punishment for his countless misdeeds, and for a while he tried to hide them until he realized it was futile as I've probably seen them anyway.

At first I was shocked; it was a rather unpleasant sight.

Now I've gotten used to it.

"Damon!"

I jumped up, wiping my mouth. True enough, there was drool in the corners of my lips. But I wasn't dreaming of him. Honest. Okay, so maybe I was just a little bit. Not that I'd admit to anything. Innocent until proven guilty and all that shit.

Damon laughed at me, his laughter a sweet melody for my ears. Okay, so I may have started to like him. In a friendly way, that is. It's not my fault everything about him was beautiful; his smile, his laugh, the way he wiggles his eyebrows when he puts me on another one of his tests. I could see that he knew it and he couldn't resist making me look like an idiot in front of him. It was one of his favorite hobbies.

"Don't you have school?" he questioned, his eyebrow raised in that sexy way only he can do.

"I… What?" I thought it was Sunday. I quickly grabbed my iPhone and sure enough, it was Monday morning and if I didn't hurry up, I would be late for school. "Shit!"

I quickly put my clothes on and picked my books. I've grown comfortable with Damon in the past month; we both felt free to change in front of each other (as long as we weren't naked, though I doubt he'd mind me flashing him). He was, as a slave, sworn to secrecy. I wouldn't punish him if he blabbed, but he still had to listen to me when I told him to stay quiet. There were things I wasn't willing to share with the world.

"Remember to wait here until I come back, okay?" I said as I brushed my hair.

Damon groaned in the background, obviously displeased with the arrangement. I have made a deal with that whenever I was away from home, he would have to stay in my room until I get back. I would always sneak him in some food, of course; I didn't want him to starve. It was my way of keeping him safe. If he was in my room, then my parents couldn't get to him.

That's the thing with Damon; he tends to do the stupidest things sometimes just to piss me off. Last week he set a pornographic picture as my computer background, once changed my homepage from Google to some site about bourbon, and did some other things I don't feel comfortable bringing up. I got over that rather quickly, but if my mother and father were to find out, they would surely punish him. I couldn't let that happen.

My parents have a short fuse when it comes to slaves. If they do something bad, they get punished. Severely. It doesn't matter if it was an accident. I've told my mom and dad countless of times Damon was my responsibility, but I just knew that if I wasn't home when he did something, they would take matters into their own hands. That was something I wasn't willing to put him through.

He was never content with this agreement, but today he was extremely annoyed. He wanted to go out, be free for once in his life. I get that. Really, I do. If only my parents weren't like that, maybe I would've let him go.

I've offered to take him out a few times, and every single time he said no. I knew it was his way of messing with my head, and still, I couldn't help but feel bad. Sometimes I found it difficult to be in the same room with him, and rest assured, he felt the same.

"You can't keep me prisoner, _Elena."_ There he goes again, saying my name in such a way that makes me feel extremely guilty. He approached me and I noticed his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing scars covering his chest. If only he knew what my parents truly are like; those scars would be nothing compared to what they could do to him.

"I'm not, _Damon,"_ I retorted in the same tone to show I wasn't intimidated.

"Then let me go."

He may have been an ass, but he still needed my permission. And that was something I wasn't willing to give.

"No. Stay here."

He grabbed my wrist when I was about to exit the door and spun me around with incredible force. Was that supposed to frighten me? I knew he couldn't do anything to me – no, _wouldn't_ do anything to me, yet I still wished he wasn't that difficult to work with.

"We'll talk when I get back," I said in my best attempt to be calm, though I probably came off as passive aggressive.

"No." He said it with such calmness, such tranquil fury that made me shiver. "We'll talk _now."_

"You can't keep me here, Damon."

"Welcome to my world."

"It's not the same." _Way to go, Elena,_ I told myself. _You've just dug yourself deeper. _The point of this whole experience was to treat him like a normal person, not just another slave. I always fuck things up without even trying. "Let me go. I have to go to school."

His face was pale, rid of all emotion. He just stared at me with those big eyes of his, pleading for a little bit of freedom he knew he'd never have. I felt incredibly sorry for him. It must be a sad life to be a slave.

"You're just like them. You say you're not, but you are," he said as he removed his hand from my wrist. "Poor little Elena, always the victim."

"No, Damon, listen! I told you, my parents-"

He cut me off. "Fuck your parents!"

Normally I would agree with him, but words wouldn't fix the damage they'd inflict on him for the smallest of mistakes.

"We'll talk when I get back," I said sharply.

He snorted, and on my way out muttered just loud enough for me to hear: "Lots of things can happen until you get back."

Boy, was he right. Only not in the way he'd imagined.

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><p>On my way to school I prayed Damon would listen to me, at least just this final time. My parents had a day off today and with Damon being grouchy they had a perfect opportunity to hurt him when I wasn't looking. I hoped with my entire being that it wouldn't come to that. If only he waits until I come home. We can talk about it and come to a better agreement.<p>

It hurt me when he said I was like everyone else. I wasn't trying to be. I did my best to treat him right, always be on his side; I tried so hard to get him to be my friend. He said I had to earn his friendship and that's exactly what I've been doing. It was him who was being difficult. I resisted the urge to tear up as I parked my car on the school's parking lot and entered that little world of rampaging teenagers.

I wondered if Damon could drive. Maybe he'd like to be my driver. That way he'd get to go out more and, if he happens to like cars and driving, maybe even enjoy himself a bit. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

I looked around the crowd of kids, searching for Jeremy, who I haven't seen since he had an argument with our parents two days ago and stormed out. The good thing is that I found him after only a minute of looking. The bad is that the thing he held in his hand looked suspiciously like a joint and people he was surrounded with looked like they supplied him with it. I considered going over there and ripping it from his hand, but then decided against it.

It was mom and dad's mess. They should deal with it.

"So, how's it going?" Caroline Forbes asked, popping up behind me with Bonnie Bennett in tow. The three of us exchanged a hug and began to chat until the bell marked the start of class.

Out of everyone in this damned school, Bonnie and Caroline were the best. True, both owned slaves, but they treated them with kindness and respect rarely seen in our community. Also, they were one of the few people who didn't mock my anti-slavery arguments. They actually seemed to support it.

"I had an argument with Damon," I admitted, rubbing my wrist. His grip wasn't that rough, but I could still feel his fingers on my skin, tightening around it, holding it with force.

"What did he do now?" Bonnie inquired, raising an eyebrow.

They'd grown accustomed with my complaints about Damon's behavior, so I felt free to tell them all about our little fight this morning.

"You know I'm against cruelty, but maybe you should spank him sometime. You know? Like that," Caroline said, winking at me suggestively, mimicking a tap with her palm.

"Caroline!" Bonnie warned.

The blonde shrugged. "What?"

"That's wrong on so many levels," I said. Not that I would mind spanking Damon (or him spanking me, for that matter – with both our consents, of course), but it still felt wrong. Terribly wrong. Leave it to Caroline to be a pervert about everything.

"I'd do it," Caroline said.

Why wasn't I surprised?

* * *

><p>After my favorite class ever, History, was over, I begrudgingly got myself seated in Biology. Only one more period and I will finally be free from this hell called school. I'll go home and get this entire mess sorted with Damon, and everything will be fine. Or so I hoped.<p>

"How's your little boy-toy, Elena?" teased Rebekah Mikaelson, the girl I had the luck of sitting behind of. She was one of the people who considered it outrageous when I didn't have a slave, and when it became common knowledge that I've gotten Damon, she never missed a chance to tease me about it.

"He's amazing, actually," I replied. "A lot better than you."

She rolled her eyes. "Feisty much today?"

"Just leave me alone."

Today's lesson our dear teacher graced us with was about scars. As she went over the injury to scab process, to finally healing, I couldn't keep my thoughts from Damon. He's had scars. Lots of them. Probably even more that I didn't see (and didn't want to see). Just what had he done to deserve such disfigurement? Yeah, he was a pain in the ass, but I couldn't imagine myself doing anything like that to him. His previous owners must have been psychopaths. You don't do that to someone, no matter their status. Just because he was a slave didn't mean he deserved to be treated like a toy.

I remembered the first time I discovered them and it hurt just as much. If it was like that for me, I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for him to get hurt like that. Judging by their severity, they were the work of madmen, people who wouldn't stop hitting him even when he was down. The mere thought of that made my eyes tear up.

* * *

><p><em>It's been a few days since I've got him that I've finally seen him half-naked, and what I've seen frightened me. Thick, painful looking scars covered almost every inch of his skin, and for some reason I couldn't keep my eyes off them. I finally realized just why he tried so hard to keep me from seeing him without a shirt and felt sorry for this small invasion of privacy.<em>

_"Enjoying the show?" he asked, smirking, trying to keep it cool, although it was obvious he was embarrassed._

_"I… Well, I mean… You… I'm sorry." I quickly turned away, allowing him to get fully dressed before I let my eyes wander over to him._

_"Like what you see?" he teased once I gathered enough courage to turn back and breathed out a sigh of relief to see him in a shirt._

_"Stop it, Damon," I warned, though I knew he wouldn't listen. My demands always prompted him to keep up._

_"Why? So you don't have to feel guilty? Well, tough luck, Elena."_

_I decided to ignore the remark. "Who did that to you?"_

_"People like you."_

_Suddenly that speech he gave about his previous owners trying to break him made a lot more sense._

_"I-"_

_"You're not like that. Yeah, I know that speech. But the thing is," he said, walking over to me, once again getting too close for my liking, "some of them said the exact same thing. Didn't stop them from reaching for the whip whenever things got… a little bit out of control."_

_"I promised you I wouldn't. I don't break my promises," I said. "Is everything healed? Do you need a doctor?"_

_He smirked. "Never needed one, never will. Don't pretend to be worried. We all know it's just a mask."_

_"Why don't you give me a chance?" I asked, at the verge of tears._

_"I've given enough of them to know not to fall for that," he replied, wiping away one of the tears that slid down my cheek. "Your tears may get you what you want from your parents and teachers, but they aren't gonna work on me. So _stop_ pretending to care!"_

* * *

><p>Only I wasn't pretending. I really did care. I still do and probably always will. I kept rewinding that memory in my head the entire way home, thinking of things to say to him. If only I knew of a way to set him free. I've heard of people who accomplished it, but according to the Internet, it was an incredibly difficult thing to do. And I'm barely an adult. I highly doubt I'd be able to pull it off.<p>

As for asking my parents for help – yeah, that's gonna happen. I think they'd rather send Damon off to a certain death than help me free him.

When I walked into my home I was greeted with the sight of Isobel, my mom's slave, on her hands and knees, cleaning what appeared to be blood. The thick substance was everywhere, covering a large portion of the floor and walls, turning their delicate colors dark, rusty, disgustingly rich red.

"What happened?" I asked, startled. _Please, don't let it be him. Please, not him,_ I begged. But I knew it was. It was too obvious to be a lie.

"You should ask your parents, mistress Elena," replied Isobel bitterly.

"Elena, you're home," my mom said, exiting the kitchen with a smile on her face. Dad was right behind her, looking ready to kill someone with a mere look.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"We had a bit of a… _problem_ with Damon," mom responded.

Oh, no. What have they done to him? "What kind of a problem?" I demanded. My heart was racing, ready to jump out of my chest. I prayed they didn't hurt him too bad, but judging by the amount of blood, I'd say he was lucky to be alive. If he was alive, that is. Which I hoped he was.

"He took my bourbon without permission," dad said, enraged.

My eyes widened in shock. They couldn't be serious. "What?"

"He took my-"

"You did this," I gestured to the bloody mess, "to him over bourbon?"

"It was expensive!"

"And he didn't ask for permission," mom added promptly.

My eyes began to tear up; I could already feel them getting swollen and red. "I can't believe you," I said, shooting them one last glare before sprinting up the stairs. Actually, I could believe them. It was just something they'd do. I was so stupid, leaving him after that clear promise he'd do something when I'm not here. I should've known better. "Damon! Damon, where are you?"

I found him in the bathroom attached to my room. This was one of the times that I was grateful I had my very own bathroom. He was sitting on the floor, almost entirely covered in blood, his body a painful mess of cuts and bruises. He looked at me with those gorgeous eyes of his and my heart instantly sank. How could they do that? He was mine; my responsibility. They should've let me take care of this.

"Oh, my god, Damon", I said, gasping.

I've expected terrible, but this was too much. I took the first towel I could lay my eyes on and soaked it in warm water. I owned no first aid kit and I was pretty sure my parents wouldn't let me use theirs for this, so I had to improvise. I reached for one of his wounds, but he pushed my hand away, glaring daggers at me.

He was pissed. Very.

"Just let me take care of this. Please," I begged, hoping to make him give in, but he just kept his eyes on me, threatening death.

"I knew it," he rasped. "Just like the others."

"No!" I exclaimed. I've had it with these accusations. "I told you to stay in my room! Why didn't you listen? Why didn't you…?" With this I burst into tears. I couldn't keep it in anymore. This was his mess. He disobeyed me and paid the price. It wasn't my fault: it was his.

Something in his demeanor suddenly changed. He allowed himself to relax, at least for a bit, and in his eyes there was no more hatred directed at me. He wasn't as tense as before and I took it as a sign of acceptance. He was letting me get close and I wasn't going to miss the change to help him. I knelt before him and started cleaning his wounds, doing my best to be as gentle as possible, apologizing for every wince he gave.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. I couldn't believe my ears. Damon was a lot of things, but I never took him for an apologetic type.

"Why did you do that?" I asked. "It was a really stupid thing to do."

He shrugged in a completely nonchalant way. "I like bourbon. And I wanted to piss you off."

"Well, you succeeded." I wiped a large gash on his arm and he let out a moan. "Sorry."

"There you go again, pretending to care," he accused.

"I'm not pretending," I said, tired of arguments. I looked around both my room and the bathroom, but there was nothing even resembling bandages. "I'm going to have to improvise," I told him before attempting to rip apart an old towel I found.

He put a hand on top of mine, stopping me. "Don't. I can do without."

"What are you talking about? You'll get an infection!"

"I won't. I've been through this before. It'll sting for a while and then it'll go away. No big deal."

"I'll go buy some bandages," I offered.

Damon shook his head. "No. I'll be fine." He outstretched his hand toward me and I realized he wanted me to help him get to his feet. I was surprised. He never wanted my help before. I guess desperate times call for desperate measures. I helped him limp over to the bed and did my best to make him as comfortable as possible.

"I'm really sorry," I said.

"For what?" he questioned.

"Keeping you prisoner. You were right, that's exactly what I've been doing. It was wrong and I apologize for that. It won't happen again."

"My, look who's gotten better at acting," he mocked.

"Damon, I'm serious!"

"So am I."

"Why are you so convinced that I'm a liar?" I asked, pouting like a child. "Why can't you just accept that someone could care about you?"

"Because I'm a slave, pouty," he replied. "And owners don't care about slaves, no matter what they say."

"Well, maybe I do."

"Keep telling yourself that. I see you already believe it."

"How can I prove to you that I mean well?!" I snapped. I felt tears welling up again and barely resisted an urge to scream. He was driving me crazy and I couldn't do anything about it. No matter what I said or did, I couldn't change his mind. He was convinced no one could ever care about him because of who he was. Whatever happened in his past clearly impacted him, changed him forever.

"That's the thing, Elena. You can't! So stop trying!" he retorted.

"No! I am _not_ giving up on you!"

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Because I want to help you!" We both took a moment to calm down, take a few deep breaths and get our fast-beating hearts under control. "Just give me a chance. Please."

"So you can betray me?" he questioned, this time a bit calmer than before.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I wouldn't do that. You said I need to earn your friendship, but I can't do that if you don't give me a chance."

He looked at me, obviously considering it, and nodded after a moment spent in uncomfortable silence. I smiled at him, proud of his willingness to finally accept my kindness, and in the heat of the moment put my arms around him, pulling him into a warm, friendly hug. This startled him, made him twitch, but he made no movement, no indication this affected him in any way other than shock.

I heard him hiss in pain and quickly backed off. Stupid me. He was still shirtless and covered in open wounds. I caused him pain without even thinking about it.

"Sorry," I said honestly. "Did I hurt you."

He shook his head. "No."

"Damn it. You're bleeding again." _Way to go, Elena._ I always have to mess things up. I reached for one of the wet towels I left lying around and gently wiped the blood off a cut on his chest. "I'm so sorry about that. It was completely inappropriate."

"By all means, go at it again," he joked, raising an eyebrow in a flirtatious way.

I laughed. He could be pretty funny when he tried. "Do you have a driver's license?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Would you like to drive me to school?" I asked. He glanced at me questioningly, so I quickly went to explain. "I thought you could drive me to school, go around the town, and then pick me up once I'm done. How does that sound?"

"You want me to be your driver?" he asked.

"Why not? It'd be fun. And you wouldn't have to be here when I'm gone."

"What's the catch?" he questioned, suspicious of my intentions.

"No catch," I assured him. "You gave me a chance and I'm taking it. Sound good?"

He smirked. "Very."

At least we finally came to an understanding. Maybe this friendship will develop sooner than I thought; I sure as hell hoped it will. And not only friendship. Maybe something even greater.

I've only known him for a month, and all about him; his life, his demeanor, even his freaking laughter and the way he looked at me; everything screamed trouble. But for some reason this felt like the good kind of trouble.

It was the kind of trouble I loved.

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><p><strong>Remember, people: reviews = love = more chapters.<strong>


	3. Falling For You

**Thank you for the beautiful reviews! They mean a world to me!**

**Go to my Tumblr: marril96. tumblr . com (just remove the spaces). I put some spoiler pictures there, you might want to see them.**

**Did you see the latest episode? My Delena feels! It hurts! That kiss in the rain was epic! God, I so wish they last till the show ends.**

**This chapter's theme songs are Blank Space by Taylor Swift, and The Cure by Jordin Sparks.**

* * *

><p><em>So hey, let's be friends<em>

_I'm dying to see how this one ends_

_Grab your passport and my hand_

_I can make the bad guys good for a weekend_

_~ Blank Space by Taylor Swift_

* * *

><p><strong>~ Falling For You ~<strong>

* * *

><p>Damon seemed quite satisfied with our latest agreement. A bit too satisfied, if I might add. Every morning he would drive me to school, drive around the town or go shopping or whatever it is he was doing in his free time, and then pick me up in the afternoon. There was always a chance there might be an emergency, so I gave him my old cellphone. That way we could reach each other anytime we needed to.<p>

Days passed by and our routine stayed pretty much the same. I gave him some money every day; turns out sharing your allowance with a slave isn't such a bad thing after all, especially if your parents are as wealthy as mine. My allowance has always been high and I was more than happy to give half of it to Damon.

Today was just like any other day. It was Friday, which meant school finished earlier. I couldn't wait till I graduate. I thought of getting myself a job and moving somewhere far away from my parents (and taking Damon with me, of course). The incident of few weeks ago hasn't repeated, partly because Damon was hardly ever at home without me, and partly because his behavior seemed to change for the better. Giving me a chance did wonders for him (though only a little, but it was a start).

"Hey!" I greeted, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Hey," he replied. He seemed to be a bit more perky than usual and I got suspicious.

"What did you do?" I questioned.

"What makes you think I did something?" he asked, feigning innocence, clasping one hand over his heart.

"You have that look."

"What look?"

_"That_ look."

He smirked. "Okay, you got me." He reached for the backseat and showed me a glassy, elegant looking bottle filled with what looked to be alcohol. Bourbon, to be precise.

"You didn't."

"I did," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You're such a smartass!" I accused jokingly, taking the bottle from him to take a closer look. Slaves needed their owner's written permission to buy things, and I gave him mine for _this?_ Still, I couldn't help but feel a little bit rebellious, despite it being him who purchased the drink. "Where did you get it?"

"It's a secret," he said with a finger pressed over his lips.

"You haven't been drinking, have you?" I inquired. I had no problem with him drinking, but I wasn't willing to let him drive me in that state, even if he wasn't drunk.

"No! What, you think I wanna kill you?"

"When it comes to you, you can never be sure."

"I'm insulted," he joked.

I smiled. Then it dawned on me and my expression darkened in an instant; mom and dad were free from work again. I didn't really feel like going home anymore. Spending time with them was worse than a nightmare, and that's saying something coming from a person who loathes nightmares.

"You thinking about selling me?"

His words snapped me out of it. "No! Why would you say that?"

He burst into laughter. "Gotcha."

"Don't joke about things like that. You're stuck with me," I said.

"Don't remind me," he snarked.

"Mom and dad are home," I said.

Damon glanced at me. He winced at the mention of them and tried hard to hide it. His physical wounds may have healed, but the psychological damage was still there. "So?" he said in a manner that was supposed to be nonchalant, but did a terrible job at hiding his fears.

"I don't feel like hanging out with them," I replied honestly. Ever since they've done those horrible things to Damon, we haven't been on best terms. They tried talking to me, but I did my best to avoid them. I would've normally gone over to Caroline or Bonnie's for a few days, but that would mean leaving Damon alone with them, and that was something I just wasn't willing to do. They've done enough to him; I wasn't going to risk him getting hurt again. "Maybe we could go somewhere."

"Like where?"

"My family owns a lake house," I said. "I know where the spare key is hidden. We can have it to ourselves for the weekend."

"What makes you think your parents won't come get you?"

I laughed. "They barely know where Jeremy is half the time, and he's not even eighteen yet. Trust me, they won't come after us."

"You would go there alone with me?" Damon wondered. "Aren't you scared I might do something to you?"

"Like what? Sarcasm me to death?" I teased.

"I don't know," he admitted. "You shouldn't trust strangers."

"You're hardly a stranger," I said, rendering him speechless. This prompted me to giggle. "What? Cat got your tongue? Do you wanna go or not?"

"As if it matters," he muttered.

"It does to me. We've been over this, Damon. I value your opinion. I told you I want to be friends and I meant it."

"Fine," he finally said. "But you're not getting any of my bourbon."

Another laugh from me. He really knows how bring the best out of a girl. "Noted."

* * *

><p>We made one last stop at a store on the outskirts of town to buy supplies needed for the weekend before heading straight for the lake house. As expected, the key was not-so-well-hidden under the mat. It took us some time to carry everything we bought inside; we probably would've finished sooner had Damon not insisted on carrying everything by himself, and I argued that since he decided to give me a chance to be his friend, the least I could do was help him carry some shopping bags that weren't even that heavy.<p>

Even though it was only the end of summer, the weather was quite cold for this time of year. I looked out the window and noticed the sky was getting darker, clouds taking on the color of lead, so dull and menacing that I could feel those uncomfortable, unwelcome goosebumps crawl on top of my skin. I never liked storms and spending a couple days in a house made of wood during one didn't feel like the kind of thing they'd advise on after school specials.

There was one thing that comforted me, though – I had Damon. As long as he was with me, by my side, I wouldn't feel as frightened. I smiled at the thought and he gave me a confused look; I must have looked like such a fool, smiling for, at least to him, no reason at all.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said with a shake of my head. "Just thinking about something."

There was that smirk of his again and I knew a dirty comment was to ensue. "If you want to see me naked, all you have to do is ask."

I was right. "Damon!" I warned, my smile transforming into a half-laugh. We might have had our differences, but when it came to humor, even the dirtiest of the dirty, no one could ever compare to him, not by a longshot.

He wiggled his eyebrows at me the way no one but him did it. "Just saying."

This was going to be a fun weekend.

* * *

><p>It was ten PM sharp when the storm reached its highest point. Lightning was flashing, thunder echoing, winds blowing, their unstoppable force smiting everyone and everything in their way. The rain was falling in gallons, big, heavy drops crashing into fragile windows and walls making this house.<p>

Damon and I were sitting before the fireplace, warmth engulfing out bodies. Maybe it wasn't the brightest idea to come here. I should have checked the weather app on my phone first. Still, even this was better than being around my parents, and I could see, as it was written all over his divine face, that Damon felt the same.

He gave me a chance to earn his friendship, and what better way to do that than spend two days alone in a house made of wood amidst a raging storm?

There was a clash of thunder again, this one louder than I've thought was possible, and I instinctively jumped for cover to Damon's side, grabbing his forearm in search for comfort and leaning my head against his shoulder.

I heard him snort and instantly backed away, cheeks red in embarrassment, heart ready to explode from enhanced beats. Damn me and my irrational instincts. But then again, weren't instincts known to be irrational? Or was it the other way around? I wasn't entirely sure.

"I'm sorry," I muttered under my breath, though I was certain he'd heard me.

"By all means, do it again," he said with a wink that only caused me to blush harder. This seemed to amuse him more than it should have. "So, do we share a bed here, too?"

I was thinking of letting him have his own room for a change, but now I wasn't sure if that was a good idea anymore. What if he gets insulted? What if he thinks I want to get rid of him? What if it makes him change his mind about me and he decides to be difficult (well, more difficult than he normally is, anyway) again? There were too many what ifs that made my head reach the peak of explosion.

"Do you want us to?" I asked.

There was a hint of a mocking smile on Damon's lips, hidden behind the look of hurt he so often wore. "You're serious about this friendship thing?" he asked, not a trace of malice or sarcasm that I've gotten so used to in his voice.

"I am," I replied confidently. "We're alone here, so I figured we could talk a little. You know, get to know each other better."

"You want to get to know me?" He said it as though he couldn't believe anyone would want to get to know someone like him, which I found ridiculous. He seemed like an interesting guy, with hidden depths and feelings every human being, no matter a slave or a free person, possessed.

I just knew there was a good person hidden behind the façade he so obviously tried hard to maintain, and I was willing to go the end of the world to get that kind, funny, sweet guy to resurface, show me his real face which no doubt was amazing. Because he was amazing, even if he was an ass for most of the time. I just knew it.

In almost two months I've known him, I've seen how hard he tried to hide his real self, his emotions that sometimes showed themselves without his permission, and no matter how hard he tried to push them back, they would always resurface in every argument we had, every disagreement, every single time he challenged me and I challenged him back.

I wanted to help him. In the future I probably will, but until then, whilst we're still stuck in this relationship neither of us wanted in the first place, I wanted us to be friends. I wanted him to feel free to open up to me, to express his opinions and desires even if they go against every rule in my book, even if I find them atrocious and wrong on so many levels.

In one word, I wanted him to be himself.

"Yeah," I said. "Why not?"

"Maybe I don't want to talk about myself," he offered, once gain challenging me, his signature smirk back on his lips.

"I find that hard to believe," I retorted playfully. If there was one thing he loved, it was himself. I had no doubt he could talk about himself for hours, given the right inspiration.

"Really? And what if it's true?"

"Then I guess I'll have to make you," I joked.

This hurt him a little, but once again he pushed his feelings behind, steel wards guarding him back up. "I thought the whole point of this was to be friends," he said, his tone revealing disappointment. I should've thought of a better choice of words.

"I didn't-"

"Mean that. Yeah, they all say that."

"What is it with you and trust?" I demanded a bit too harshly for both our likings, and he felt compelled to answer for fear of my fury. My intentions were never to force him into anything he didn't want to, and yet I always found myself ruining all the trust he was willing to put in me, all the chances he was willing to give me. And for what? My own wretched temper, impatience I sometimes couldn't help but give into.

"You really want to know? Fine, I'll tell you," Damon said, fury accompanying his every word. That's when I realized he wasn't really that scared of me; in a way he was, but he was angrier, tired of what he assumed to be fake compassion coming from me. "There was a girl once, a lot like you. Same voice, same demeanor. Hell, she even looked like you."

"Damon, you don't have to-" I tried, but to no avail. He was angry and he wanted to tell me, wanted me to know everything and feel guilty for making him relive some of his worst memories.

"Yes, I do, Elena. I have to do everything you say. You're my master, remember? You _ordered_ me to talk, so I'll talk," he spat. "Her name was Katerina; Miss Katerina Petrova. A Bulgarian girl living the American dream with her family. She even demanded to be called Katherine to make herself seem more _ours. _Just like you, her parents got me for her birthday. And just like you, she said she wasn't like the others."

"Damon, I-"

He ignored me, keeping up with the story as if his life depended on it.

"Only I wasn't her only present. My brother, Stefan, was included in the package. She was so happy to get two toys to do whatever she wanted with."

My jaw dropped in shock. Damon had a brother? He never mentioned him before.

"She was nice at first, preferred my brother over me, but I didn't give it much thought. I was happy not to be mistreated for once. Then she started hanging around me more, ignoring Stefan in my favor. With time I learned to trust her, opened up to her. She asked for a chance and I gave her one. It was stupid of me, but when you're in my position, you're willing to do anything for anyone offering you kindness. Slaves don't get much of that, you know?"

I could see where this was going and didn't want to hear the rest. I wanted him to stop. I was ready to beg him, just so I don't have to hear the end of this. It was too painful, even for me. "Please, Damon, I get it. You don't have to go on."

Once again, I was ignored.

"With time I started falling for her. She's sneak me a kiss here and there, and I liked it. Then one day she asked if I wanted to sleep with her. I said yes. I trusted her and loved her, and I thought she felt the same. She was good at manipulating people, only back then I didn't realize that. I was too blinded by my feelings for her to see what a cold, heartless bitch she was."

I didn't know what else to do, so I resorted to the only thing I thought would work – orders. I felt bad for ordering him like that, but I just wanted this nightmare to end. This was a bad idea. I should have picked a better topic for discussion. "I want you to stop. It's an order!"

"You wanted to hear it and you will, every single detail," he said defiantly. "That night Katherine took me to her room. We had sex for the first time. And let me tell you, it was good sex. My first consensual one."

"Stop!"

"Then in the morning I was dragged out of bed by her father. Katherine stood aside, crying, saying I forced myself on her, made her take me to bed. I tried to explain what happened, but no one listened to me. No one gave a damn what a slave like me had to say. It was her word that mattered. I was nothing. Trash. Expendable. Replaceable."

He took a deep breath before continuing, his eyes reddening, tears showing, ready to fall if he was to let his guard down. My eyes teared up as well, I could feel myself shake; it was a mixture of rage and sadness. How could someone do that? If I was to ever meet that Katherine, I swore to punch her in the face (or at least imagine punching her in the face). It was the least I could do.

"Her father had this whip with little shards of glass glued to it. It was his favorite. And boy, did it hurt." Damon unbuttoned his shirt, revealing some of the scars hidden by the fabric. "You asked who did this to me? There's your answer. Katherine stood aside, laughing, sometimes even joining in. Then I was thrown in the basement until I looked presentable for possible buyers. Needless to say, it took a while. I was glad to finally be out of there. I wished my brother could go with me, but Katherine decided to keep him. I could do nothing about it. Still, as long as I was away from her and her crazy ass family, I was good. So yes, Elena, I have trust issues. I probably always will. So I would like it if you stopped being such a bother and left me alone for once!"

"Damon, I…" I didn't know what to say. This was too much information, too much pain and suffering, too much hurtful memories. In a way, I was glad he shared it with me. If I was him, I'd want to talk to someone about it. But still, I could see it bothered him that I knew so much about him, scared him I would use it against him. Part of him didn't care; the other part cursed himself for revealing too much to someone like me, someone he obviously didn't like, or at the very least tried hard not to like and push away.

Denial was a powerful thing, especially for someone like him. I wanted so bad to tell him something, anything, any word of kindness, promise it would get better, but I knew better than that. It would be wrong to give a promise I could never keep, hurt him all over again even if he wanted me out of his life, because I knew there was a small bit of him that wanted this, wanted _me._ Even if he refused to admit it, his expression, everything about him told me he, too, wanted to be my friend, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

So I did the only thing I thought would help – I hugged him. He didn't move, didn't say anything; he just stayed calm, pale, and I just knew he finally let tears fall now that I couldn't look into his eyes. "I'm sorry", I whispered ever so gently and took one of his hands into mine, caressing it, cherishing the tender moment he allowed to happen. "Thank you for telling me."

I pressed a finger against his cheek, careful to make slow, non-threatening movements to not startle him, and brushed away wet trails left by tears. His cheek was warm, and he shivered under my touch, wondering what I was going to do next, if I was going to hurt him just like he was hurt all those years ago.

"It's okay. I won't hurt you," I assured him, offering a smile. I slid my hand down to his chest, feeling the scars, both new and old, thinking of how horrible it must have been for him to get hurt like that. What my parents did to him shook him to the core, added permanent marks on his silky skin, but it was nothing compared to what Katherine and her father did.

In that moment I swore to myself to never let it happen again. No one will ever lay a hand on him; not Katherine, not my parents, not some stranger having a bad day. No scar will join the already large collection his skin bore, no harm will come his way, no blood of his will be spilt. He was mine and I would protect him with all I had. I owed him that much.

"I am not Katherine," I said.

He looked at me, tears long gone from his eyes, his face as beautiful as ever, so stoic and blank. He moved closer to me just like he always did when he had something to say and I felt myself go out of breath, my eyes glued to his lips that were so close to mine they almost touched. _Closer!_ my mind screamed and my heart listened, beating faster and faster, my body yearning for his touch. I don't know what it was about him that drove me crazy whenever he was that close to me. I just knew that I wanted him more than anything, more than anyone I've ever wanted.

And I didn't know why.

"So if I was to do something," he whispered in a tone similar to my own, only his was, as usual, challenging, daring, "you wouldn't _punish_ me?"

I shook my head. "I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I can keep it," I said. I had an idea where this was leading and I wasn't sure if I should stay or flee like there is no tomorrow. I just knew that his closeness awoke something within me, something fiery, a beast I wasn't sure I could control nor if I wanted to control it. It was then that I decided to stay, let him do as he pleased, as he seemed to know these things better than I did, better than anyone I've ever encountered.

I trusted him with everything; myself, my emotions, my words, my everything. He wouldn't do me wrong, I knew that much. He would never do me wrong. He _could_ never do me wrong, even if he wanted to. He may have been a slave, but he had morals, knew right from wrong. And even if his right and wrong differed from mine, I trusted him enough not to take advantage, to respect my silent wishes.

"Good," he purred. And with that he pressed his lips to mine. It was the most beautiful kiss I've ever had, so divine, so heavenly and gracious it took my breath away, reduced me to a needy mess greedy for his touch, his warm skin against mine. God, was he an incredible kisser. I have never been kissed like that, with such force and passion, such raging fire that melted all my sanity, leaving me with only desire for more.

And more I got.

I went completely numb, submitting to his control, letting him do as he pleased. His lips were soft, tender, tasted of honey and everything sweet, attracting me like magnets, leaving me burning with desire.

I barely suppressed a gasp as Damon parted from me, heat still in the air, passion all around. I wanted more, a lot more; I was ready to beg of him to do that again, take control of me just one more time. It was only one kiss, yet I was already addicted. I needed him, needed his lips on mine, needed his marvelous touch.

It was always like that with me. Broken boys attracted me for as long as I knew and I couldn't help it. It wasn't pity that drove me to them; no, it was a wish, _a need_ to fix them. And Damon was broken. Very. I wanted to fix him badly, wanted to make him whole again, free him of past filled with pain and grief. He needed it, and I needed it.

But as I thought about it, I came to a realization it just wasn't possible. It was never going to work. Owners and their slaves rarely, if ever, got happy endings. The society was against it, never accepting, never understanding. Slaves were often used for casual sex, but relationships? Hardly.

If this went on, one or both of us would end up hurt. In the end we'd cause more damage than good and I knew, despite how much I wanted him, I realized, as more than just a friend, it was mission impossible. We weren't meant to be. The entire damn universe was against us.

"So how much do I get, Elena?" Damon asked, shaking me out of my thoughts.

"What?" I asked, dazed.

"Ten lashes?" He smirked. "Twenty?"

"I… No, I said I… I mean… I won't…" I couldn't think clearly. I wanted to both kiss him and push him away, save both of us from getting attached before it's too late, before we become dependent on each other. Why was he being so difficult again? Couldn't he just let it go? How many times did I have to tell him I meant him no harm?

"Fifty?" he said with a raised eyebrow. "'Cause I'm down with that."

"None," I replied. "Just let it go."

"It would be worth it," he continued, ignoring my remark.

"Stop it, Damon!"

"Or what?"

I rolled my eyes. I didn't feel like arguing again. I was too tired, I just wanted to do to bed and have some sleep (though I doubted I'd get much after this). He must have noticed that as he put his hand on my shoulder and I twitched, much to his amusement, causing him to grin.

"Are we going to bed?" he asked.

I frowned. Was he seriously going to pretend this never happened? How could he be so nonchalant about it?

"S-sure," I replied once I gathered enough strength to speak again and lead him to the room I claimed as my own. Sharing a bed with him after such a powerful kiss didn't feel like the best idea, but I couldn't see it any other way. If he was to ignore a heated moment such as that one, then fine. So will I.

But still, there was one thing I couldn't ignore to save my life.

I was falling for him. Hard.

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><p><strong>Please, review. I like to know what my readers think. Pretty, pretty please. If you do, I'll reward you with a new chapter in record time.<strong>


	4. Salt Meets Wound

**My sincerest gratitude for the reviews! You guys are the best!  
><strong>

**More spoiler pics on my Tumblr. Enjoy!**

**Listen to Taylor Swift's Bad Blood for this chapter. Trust me, it fits. Especially this little quote I put here.**

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><p><em>Did you have to do this?<em>

_I was thinking that you could be trusted_

_Did you have to ruin what was shining?_

_Now it's all rusted_

_Did you have to hit me where I'm weak?_

_Baby, I couldn't breathe_

_And rub it in so deep_

_Salt in the wound like you're laughing right at me_

_~ Bad Blood by Taylor Swift_

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><p><strong>~ Salt Meets Wound ~<strong>

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><p>Things have been awkward between Damon and me for the last couple of weeks. Ever since that kiss I kept my distance, afraid it would happen again, especially if my parents happened to be around. I didn't trust them. Who knew what they'd do to him if they found out? They could easily restrain me and hurt him in my presence, and I wasn't willing to risk that.<p>

Damon still pretended the kiss never happened, keeping up with his life as if we're still those two people who live together against their will. He kept on mocking me, daring me, doing opposite of what I told him just to piss me off, and while I disliked this kind of behavior, I wasn't as mad at him as I would have been two weeks ago.

I walked into our room after a tiring day at school, only to find him going through my underwear drawers and picking up my bras and panties as if it was nothing. I should've been suspicious when he asked for a day off this morning, saying he wasn't feeling well, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I should have known better.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, snatching a pair of silky panties out of his hand.

"What does it look like?" he asked.

"What were you doing with my underwear?"

He smirked mysteriously and shrugged. "Stuff."

"Damon!" I warned with a frown.

"This is my room, too. You said so. I can do what I want in here," he stated. Yup, it wasn't my room anymore. It was _ours._ I figured, since he slept here and spend most of his time here, he should be free to do as he likes as long as no harm is done. I realize the flaw in that now. Once again he was daring me to say or do something, itching for an argument, trying to piss me off. Only this time I wasn't about to give him the pleasure.

"Is the concept of personal space foreign to you?" I asked.

"Maybe."

"Enough, Damon!" I ordered.

"Or what?"

Good question. Too bad I didn't know the answer. Or did I? "I'll take away your bourbon," I threatened.

"Can't. I drank it all," he said.

Now it was my time to smirk. "I know there's a stash hidden under the bed."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

He approached me, looking me directly in the eye. I stared back to show he can't intimidate me, not anymore. This has turned into a game of some sort for us. We'd get into each other's face, exchange a few glares, and then keep on with our day as if nothing happened. You could call it a power play, a challenge he was the initiator of for most of the time, something that we've both became accustomed to.

And, in a twisted, slightly disturbing way, we liked it. We liked every second of it.

After a while we grew tired of it and just gave up. "Would you like to go for a ride?" I asked, bored out of my mind. There was nothing to do in this stupid house and my friends all had plans that didn't involve me. "We could hang out at the Grill."

Damon beamed at the suggestion. "Your treat," he said,

"Not very gentlemanly of you," I commented, prompting him to smirk.

"Who said I was a gentleman?"

Good point.

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><p>It was that evening that my mom said the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard her say. "Why don't you and Damon join us for dinner?"<p>

"What?" I asked, not believing my own ears. I was in the kitchen trying to think of something to get for Damon and myself to eat, and it would be an understatement of the century to say her suggestion baffled me.

"You two always eat in your room. Don't you think it would be nice to dine together for once?"

_No, I don't,_ I wanted to say, but decided to keep it to myself. Did she forget what she and dad did to him a little over a month ago? What did she expect, that he should just get over it and act like nothing happened? Hell, _I_ was still pissed about it. I couldn't even imagine his anger.

"Please. We haven't seen Jeremy in days. Let us spend at least an hour with you," mom pleaded.

Right. How could I forget? Jeremy had another one of his arguments with our dear parents a week ago and we haven't seen him since. Okay, so I saw him at school, from a safe distance, but at least I knew he was okay. Home was a place he did his best to avoid. I could see why.

"I'll talk to Damon about it," I said, knowing he'd say no.

Mom frowned. "You'll talk to Damon? Honey, he's your slave, not your friend. I think you're doing this all wrong. You're letting that boy have too much freedom on his hands. Don't you think you should tighten the leash a bit?"

Doing my best to contain my urge to explode, I said: "We'll see."

"We barely spend time as a family."

When were we ever a family? "We'll see," I repeated.

Mom smiled at me. "See you at dinner."

Damn it.

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><p>"You're serious?"<p>

"Yeah, why not? I'm all for it," Damon said. He actually agreed to a dinner with my parents without even putting up a fight. It was _me_ who was arguing against it. What was wrong with him?

"Have you forgotten that little incident?"

"Maybe I'm a masochist," he suggested.

"Maybe you are", I agreed. I was starting to think he had that streak in him. I _did_ always find him suspicious.

He snorted. "Clearly, I put up with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you can be difficult," he explained. He was standing too close to me again, so close I could feel his breath on my face. It was nice, his breath. Warm and fresh, a dangerous combo with his oh, so inviting lips just begging me to touch them, caress them, feel them up with my own, explore the entirety of them.

God, what was wrong with me? I couldn't think like that. Yes, I might be falling for him, but they're just feelings. Making them into reality would be idiotic, not to mention irresponsible. I would only end up hurting him if I acted on them, and that was something I couldn't do. He was hurt enough in his life. I didn't want to deepen his already sore wounds.

Hurting him would make him hate me and I wasn't up for that. I don't think I could live with myself if he was to hate me. It would be a fate worse than death.

_"I_ can be difficult?" I questioned, doing my best to keep my short but meaningful distance. Has he looked in the mirror lately?

"Should I dress up? What do you think?" he asked, completely ignoring my inquiry.

I shook my head in disbelief. Out of all dinners I had with my parents, I just knew this one would be the worst.

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><p>"How's pasta?"<p>

"It's great, mom," I said. It was a lie, as the damn dish was mediocre at best. Still, my mom appeared to be satisfied with the response and kept on eating in silence.

Damon was seated right next to me, and it was only because I threatened to leave the table that my parents let him stay. When mom proposed I invite him, she imagined he's be eating some garbage leftovers with their slaves outside in the cold whilst the three of us cozied up inside, in the warmth. I was having none of it. If they wanted me here, they had to put up with him.

Mom reluctantly agreed and dad stayed quiet the entire time, obviously not enjoying one second of my slave's company. He was always the stricter one of the two; everything with him had its order, rules that were to be followed or else there was hell to pay. I just hoped everything would turn out okay. As long as I'm here, they can't hurt Damon, and if they try to restrain me, I was ready to put up quite a fight.

"I see you've been taking good care of him," mom commented after serving dessert. She kept her eyes on Damon at all times, ashamed she had to be the one to serve meals to a slave.

"How would you know? We barely even see her around," dad pointed out.

"Grayson!" mom warned, though I knew she felt the same way.

"She's been lovely," Damon said with a smile.

My parents stared at him, outraged that he dared to speak without being directly spoken to.

"Does he listen to what you tell him?" mom asked.

"Every single word," Damon replied. I cringed, my expression matching that of my parents, though for all the different reasons.

"Clearly you haven't been disciplining him properly," dad stated.

"Oh, she has. _Very_ properly," Damon purred, raising his eyebrow in a suggestive manner.

"Obviously not properly enough!" dad snapped. "I would be more than happy to show her the right way."

"Dad!" I exclaimed. How many times did I have to tell them to leave my slave to me?

"Why don't you, then?" Damon asked.

"Damon!"

"Maybe I should."

"Dad, stop!"

"Maybe we both should", mom interjected.

"Mom!"

"Bring it," Damon challenged.

Dad was quick to reach for the whip he always had nearby and swung it. I jumped before Damon, arms wide, shielding him from possible harm. The blow was quick and painful, snapping as it came in contact with my abdomen, leaving a red, stinging mark over my stomach. It wasn't bleeding, yet it hurt as hell, so much that I wanted to jump out of my skin. If this one hit felt like this, I couldn't imagine how Damon must have felt when they left him a bloody mess back then. I suddenly felt so sorry for him that my eyes teared up, my cheeks instantly taking on the burning color of apples.

"Elena!" my mom shouted, running to my side, but I pushed her away. I glared at both her and dad, my eyes filled with raging, fiery fury, my emotions a volcano ready to burst and spill everything, all contempt, all anger I've been holding back.

"Go at him again and I will report you", I threatened through tears, shaking with rage. My voice came out as a hiss, poisonous and deadly, venom seething out of my every word. It was a ridiculous threat; the police wouldn't do anything once they realize it's a slave who's been injured, but I was sure I could find a way around it. Slaves count as property, right? Maybe I could sue for property damage.

Damon just looked at me with those adorable eyes of his, a hint of fear hidden beneath the usual badass façade, his eyes going from my own to my stomach, inspecting the shirt-hidden place the whip struck.

"Sweetheart, you don't understand-" mom tried, but I was quick to cut her off, sick of her bullshit.

"You're the ones who don't understand!"

"We're your parents, dear. He's just a-" dad started.

"Slave, right? So it's okay to treat him like he's nothing? No. He's my friend. Like it or not, he's now a member of this family and I expect you to treat him with respect. Do what you want with your slaves, but leave mine alone. Like you said, he's my responsibility. And as his owner _I'm_ the only one who has the right to lay a hand on him."

I took Damon by the arm as gently as I could and led him to our room. As soon as the door closed behind me, I threw the nearest thing, which happened to be a lamp, across the room. It shattered on impact with the wall and I growled; it was a primal, animalistic sound, a sign of darkness I held buried deep within and hoped it would never have to surface.

The entirety of me was shaking, bursting with the darkest of emotions I usually held back, but could now do nothing but let them completely overwhelm me. Damon was by my side in an instant, his hands on mine, holding and comforting me like a child. "Calm down," he said.

_Easier said than done._

I took a few deep breaths, let him put me back together before leaning against the wall and lifting up my shirt. Sure enough, the bruise was there, red and hot, painful to the touch. Damon pressed a wet towel against it, gently cleaning it the same way I cleaned his wounds. I hissed in pain and he muttered an apology. God, was he amazing. Taking care of me like that made him hot in a way, attractive beyond belief. If only our lives were different; if only there was a way for me to free him, earn his trust and love without the stupid slave and master bond we had. If only this world wasn't so twisted and hateful to people like him.

"Only you can lay a hand on me?" he asked, smirking, as he pulled my shirt down after making sure the bruise was well cleaned.

"You know I didn't mean it like that. I wouldn't-"

"Yes, I know," he said, making me smile. He was finally accepting me, growing fond of me. Just a few weeks ago he would've said I was just like everyone else, but now he trusted me. He knew I wouldn't hurt him just like I knew he wouldn't hurt me.

"I couldn't let them hurt you," I said truthfully_. And I've fallen for you. I want you in ways you can't even imagine._ If only I was allowed to say that. Everything would be so much better for the both of us.

"It was a really stupid thing to do," he said, smiling.

Using my own words against me? How nice of him. I grinned, taking his hand, intertwining our fingers. His were long and strong, almost protective, his skin soft to the touch.

"Thank you," I said.

Once again his face was almost touching mine. It took all my self-control not to give in to his lips' almost magnetic pull and crash mine against them, start something I so desperately wished for, so desperately desired with my entire being. I could see he felt the same temptation, only he was willing to let himself go, let burning passion that oozed from our bodies and grew stronger every day consume him.

"You can't kiss me again," I stated, when all I wanted was the opposite. I wanted to devour him, make him beg for more, push him down on the bed do things to him that I didn't know I was capable of until I met him. He had that effect on me, made me question my life and everything I believed in, and the strangest thing is, I loved it.

"Why not?" he asked, leaning in, our lips touching for barely a second before I, against my body's every instinct, took a small step back. I was still in control, but if he kept this up, I didn't know for how long I could hold myself back.

"Because it's not right."

"Maybe it is."

"It's not."

"Come on, Elena," he persisted, practically begging. "Live a little."

"I don't want to hurt you," I admitted.

He practically laughed; my, was his laughter marvelous, a melody to my ears. I couldn't get enough of it, of his voice, of the way he spoke certain words, the way he spoke my name like a soft, seductive purr. He, his very presence, his gorgeous existence was driving me insane.

"You won't hurt me," he said. It sounded more like a promise than a mere statement. "Nothing can hurt me anymore." He kissed me with the same passion as last time, only this time it tasted better, sweeter somehow. I tried to fight it, but the deeper the kiss went, the weaker I got.

Why was I resisting? I didn't want him to stop. I wanted to stay this way forever, have him kiss me every moment, every day just to satisfy my wildest desires, my greatest needs that just happened to be connected to him. But if anyone found out this wasn't just a fling initiated by me, that this attraction I couldn't force myself out of was mutual, we were in trouble. No, _he_ was in trouble.

My parents were two of the wealthiest people in town, and with wealth comes certain power that could easily be abused. And they weren't strangers to abuse of power.

I had to act fast, get him away from me as soon as I could. I was okay with him hating me as long as it meant he would be okay. It would kill me inside, but his safety was all that mattered. I didn't care that much about me anymore; I wasn't _that_ selfish. I guess we all do stupid things sometimes, only some can't be so easily fixed.

And I've decided to do the worst, most unfixable one that would guarantee me safe distance.

I pulled away from the kiss and swung my hand at him, slapping him across the cheek with all the strength I could muster. _This is wrong; very, very wrong._ I hated myself more than he probably ever will, but something had to be done. And what better way to make him hate me than proving him he was right about me all along?

Damon brought his hand over to his reddened, swelling cheek, staring at me, both frightened and mad at the same time. I could see a small drop of blood in the corner of his lip and mentally cursed myself. I didn't mean to make him bleed. I just wanted him to back away. The slap was strong, but it shouldn't have done that. _I_ shouldn't have done that.

"I see," he said in a low voice, wiping the blood away with his finger. "Guess I was wrong about you. You're not like Katherine and the others. You're so much worse."

"Damon, I-" I tried to apologize, but he cut me off by raising his hand, glaring daggers at me, his face radiating with anger.

"Save it, Elena."

"But I-"

"I said save it!" he hissed into my ear menacingly and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like curses and colorful insults describing the bitch I was.

I waited until I heard the shower running and burst into tears, weeping, crying my heart out. I had to play it cool from now on, keep our relationship strictly business, even if it killed me in the process. He will be my slave and I will be his owner, his mistress; he'll listen to my every word, obey my every command, do what I say without the possibility to decline.

It will break us both, ruin everything we've worked for in a little bit over two months we've known each other. But it will be better this way; better for him, his life. Until I think of a way to set him free, we'll have to keep our distance.

It was the only way for us to survive.

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><p><strong><strong>Yup, Elena's being bitchy. <strong>Can't wait to see what you all think.**


	5. He'll Never Be You

**I appreciate the reviews! You guys are the best, thanks a bunch!**

**This chapter's songs are Bad Blood and The Way I Loved You, both by Taylor Swift. Enjoy!**

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><p><em>He can't see the smile I'm faking<em>

_And my heart's not breaking_

_'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all_

_And you were wild and crazy_

_Just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated_

_Got away by some mistake_

_~ The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift_

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><p><strong>~ He'll Never Be You ~<strong>

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><p>Ever since that unfortunate evening, things between Damon and me haven't been the same. He was more distant than ever which, under normal circumstances, would be exactly what I wanted, hell, I'd die if that would keep him safe and as far away from feeling anything past friendliness as possible. But it was not supposed to be like this. It was <em>never<em> supposed to be like this.

He seemed more into his slave role than I thought was possible for a person as difficult as him; keeping to himself, doing what he's told with little to no resistance, not trying to piss me off anymore.

Only his distance seemed to piss me off more than anything. It was driving me insane, at times left me trembling with guilt, made me angry at myself for allowing it to happen. I just wanted us to be more professional, but this was more than I could force myself to handle, more than any normal human being capable of empathy could nor should ever handle.

I needed to forget about him, about these feelings there were eating me up inside. Every time I laid my eyes on him, I just wanted to take him into my arms, hold him and tell him everything is going to be okay, comfort him, kiss him with passion that would surely drive him over the edge just as it was driving me, and I couldn't do anything to make it stop no matter how hard I tried.

The only one close to the edge was me. It was hell: literal, painful, torturous hell that made me die a little on the inside every time my eyes met that sadness he hid in his and accidentally let slip in my presence because even though he probably hated me more than anything, he didn't want me to see him suffer, didn't want to show emotion in fear of coming off as weak and defenseless, as he was anything but.

Damon woke up earlier that morning and by the time I was fully up he was already dressed, car keys in his hand, waiting for me to get ready for school.

"Good morning," I said, offering a small smile in hopes of getting at least a trace of one back. He just turned his head to the other side, staring into empty space, gazing into anything and everything that wasn't me as the mere sight of me repulsed him.

Before we'd cuddle together in our sleep, tease each other in the morning and make perverted jokes as we changed clothes (okay, he'd be the one making dirty jokes and my duty would be to blush because that's the only reaction my body could produce without me being able to stop it). Now each slept on our own side of the bed, keeping to ourselves as much as we could. I tried reaching out to him a few times, each time getting no reaction, just a blank look pointed at everything but me, an expression of clear discomfort I took as my cue to leave him the hell alone. If he didn't want to be touched, I wasn't going to force it on him. I could _never_ be that cruel.

My touch was unwanted. _I_ was unwanted. So I stopped trying to fix the mess I've gotten myself into and gave up on touching him. I didn't want him to feel violated, or at least more violated than he already felt by having to sleep with me, hang around me, be in my presence which he clearly despised.

"You can drop me off here," I said as we drove, pointing to one of the rare free parking spots.

Damon did as told, his expression blank, almost emotionless, but I knew him better than that. He felt, and he felt powerfully, greatly, and did his best to hide those emotions he now considered a weakness, an obstacle to his duties as my slave which I never saw him as and which everyone else could only ever see him as.

"Thank you."

Once again, he said nothing, just waited for me to get out so he could go on do whatever it was he did in the little free time he was granted.

"Don't be like this, Damon," I said. I couldn't keep it in anymore. I missed his voice, his smile, that thing he did with his eyebrows that no one else but him could do. I missed our friendship, little inside jokes, bickering only we understood. Most of all, I missed his kisses. I knew I should get over it. No more kisses for me; no more of his hot, fiery body for me; no more of _him_ for me. "Talk to me."

"Have a nice day at school, Elena," he finally said, his voice, again, bearing no emotion, reeking of usual sarcasm. At least I got something _normal_ out of him, even if it happened to be snide commentary that I, as everything else about him, missed more than anything in the world because no matter how many sarcastic guys I meet, no one could ever be like him. No one could ever make bad look so fucking good, make my body scream and beg for more against every empty, meaningless protest my mind makes.

He was just that deliciously bad and that made him so damn appealing in ways I couldn't even describe.

"Can we talk about this?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"You know I'm sorry about slapping you, right?" I wished he knew, so, so much. I wished he could find it in his heart to forgive me, give me another chance at friendship which I so greatly missed because, despite all the bad about him, it was the good that I craved and couldn't get enough of as it was hidden behind those protective walls he had around him and I took it as a challenge to get it back. "I-"

"You what, Elena?" he demanded harshly. Have I ever mentioned I'm good at making people mad? Because I am. Very good. Great, actually. "You're sorry? Please! We both know that's not true."

"Please, Damon!" I begged, dangerously close to tears. I didn't want to cry, not this early in the morning. I still haven't had my coffee and an argument didn't sound like a great start of the day. "I need-"

"What? A chance?" He laughed; a sweet, beautiful melody that usually brought me so much joy, and now sent shivers of regret and grief down my spine. "You think I'm an idiot?"

"No, of course not," I argued, but nothing I could say could change what he thought of me. He'd made up his mind about me and there was no changing it, no taking back what I've done. Not that I could blame him; if I was him, I'd hate me, too. I'd despise me with all my heart. I was a bitch to him, probably came off as manipulative and cunning. Nothing could ever make that moment I've struck him vanish and the mere memory of it brought tears to my eyes.

There goes my day.

"You want to earn my trust so you can break me down all over again? It was stupid of me to think you were different. Truth is, you're just like the rest of them. Poor, insecure, sweet little Elena," he snarked in the usual Damon fashion I'd normally like, but now I wished he'd just shut the hell up and kiss me and let all the bad go forever and ever, and then we'd get our happy ending and everything would turn out the way it's supposed to be, the way I knew would never happen even if we gave it – gave _us –_ a chance. "She'd never hurt me, only wants to help me, be my friend. A real saint."

I admit, I deserved that.

"Let me tell you something: Katherine's got nothing on you. At least with her what you see is what you get. But you; you had me fooled."

"Enough, Damon!" I warned.

"Or what? You'll slap me again?" He smirked. "By all means, go for it. You know I'm telling the truth."

I didn't want to slap him, but believe me, I was tempted. "I made a mistake," I said. "It won't happen again. You're my friend, Damon. I…" _I love you, _I wanted to say, but what came out instead was: "I care about you."

"I'm your _slave,"_ he corrected. "So stop giving me false hope and start treating me like one."

"You don't want that."

"But _you_ do. So do it!"

I grabbed his wrist forcefully, my nails digging into his skin, prompting him to look at me, on his face a satisfied grin.

"I see we're getting somewhere here. Much better, Elena. You're getting into it."

"Stop this!"

"What if I don't want to?" he dared.

I let go of his wrist and uttered a growl. No, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, proof he was right about me all along. Because he wasn't. I'm not a cruel person, a bully, certainly not a villain. I love him, care about him, want him in forbidden ways I shouldn't even think about because it's so fucking wrong and cruel, and makes me look like a manipulator who only wants to pull a Katherine for the hell of it, and I'm not Katherine.

I may be a lot of things, but I am _not_ Katherine. Even I have standards.

"What is it that you want, then?" I demanded, tears pouring down my cheeks. "To torture me? Make me feel guilty? Congratulations, you succeeded. I know nothing could erase what I did to you, but I want to make it right. I want you to trust me again. I miss you, Damon. I miss _us."_

"There is no _us,_ Elena!" he snapped. "You're my owner, I'm your slave. What I want is for you to own up to your reputation be my fucking mistress!"

"Okay then!" I retorted, tired of this nonsense. If he wanted to be treated like a slave, then fine. I'll treat him like one. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He smirked at me, for some reason genuinely pleased. He's got exactly what he wanted from me, the reaction he was itching to get for days, and I fell right into his trap like a fool I was because he had that effect on me and I didn't know why, though I had a pretty good idea.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

><p>"Trouble in paradise?" Caroline teased during lunch break. She always had a nose for these kinds of things; nothing could ever skip past her. She was like a living lie detector… or emotions detector, however you wish to call it.<p>

"Nothing I can't handle," I replied, lost in thoughts. I couldn't get Damon out of my head no matter how hard I tried. I yearned for his kisses, gentle touches, his hot body pressed against mine. Even the memory of everything I've lost sent goosebumps over my skin, fire burning through my veins, enveloped my body into a burst of emotions I tried so hard to keep under control because it was so very wrong and unfair due to our different statuses, and I've already done him enough wrong.

Letting this go on would be pushing it. Yet I needed him, desired him, longed for him. God, what the hell was wrong with me?

"You can talk to us," Bonnie said reassuringly, noticing my obvious distress.

"You know we'd never judge you," Caroline added.

I wasn't sure just how much I was willing to share, even if they were my best friends in the whole wide world. I wanted to keep things concerning Damon and me a secret. That was something only we shared, something only we were supposed to know about and discuss amongst ourselves even if the only thing we had in common at the moment happened to be this unwanted antagonism towards each other.

"I need a date."

It slipped before I had time to think it through, much to both of my friends' surprise. There was truth to those words – I really did need a date. Anything that could keep my mind as far away from Damon as possible was welcome, any distraction from these feelings that couldn't be more wrong needed.

"Where does this come from?" Bonnie wondered, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. Leave it to her to question everything.

"I just feel like I need to live a little, you know?" I offered, though even for me it sounded everything but convincing. Damon would probably make it sound better; then again, everything Damon does is better than anything anyone else, including me, could ever do because he's Damon and Damon can do no wrong, and even if he did, he'd make it look fucking amazing.

Because he's Damon.

"I'll see what I can do," Caroline said with a giggle.

"As soon as possible," I clarified a bit too quickly, arousing even more suspicion from my friends.

Just then Matt Donovan happened to walk by and Caroline was quickly on her feet. "Hey, Matt!" she hollered and he looked at her, wearing that awkward smile that was practically his signature.

"Hey," he greeted. Bonnie and I waved at him and he waved back, his smile widening.

"You're free tonight, right?" Caroline inquired. _Oh, no!_ I could see where this was going and I didn't like it, not one bit. Surely she wouldn't… This is Caroline we're talking about. Of course she would!

"I am," Matt replied honestly, confused at her sudden inquiry. "Why?"

"Great! You're going out with Elena tonight!" Caroline announced.

He frowned, more baffled than ever. "I am?"

She nodded. "You are."

Matt looked over to me, blushing, and I simply shrugged. What was I supposed to say? No? We used to date a few years ago and I knew he still wanted me. It wouldn't hurt to give him another chance to go out with me, just to properly say goodbye to the idea of us. Or maybe give us another chance. No, not a chance; a friendship. Yup, this would be a friendly date and everything else to do with friendship because I needed friendship and possibly something more, but that something could only be given to me by one person, and at the moment he probably hates me more than I hate the idea of giving Matt mixed signals I was forced into giving him by my bumbling best friend.

I wanted a distraction. This would be a perfect one.

"See you at the Grill at seven?" I asked awkwardly, still not too fond of the idea.

Matt nodded, smiling. "Sure. See you."

"That was direct," Bonnie commented once Matt walked away.

Caroline shrugged. "She said soon."

I couldn't believe her. There were times I wanted to hug her, and times I wanted to slap her. But now? I couldn't feel more grateful. Okay, so maybe I wanted to slap her, but just a little and in a friendly, kinda thankful way I'm sure she'd understand.

Caroling was truly one of a kind.

* * *

><p>I slammed the front door as I walked into my home, pissed beyond belief. If my parents were at home, they'd scold me about it, but since they were at work all day, I couldn't care less. Even if they were here, I'd ignore their preaching. I stormed up the stairs and barged into my room like a hurricane, nearly knocking the door off its hinges.<p>

Damon laid on the bed, one of my plush bears in his hands, staring at me and smiling, once again provoking me. My hands were shaking, heart beat fastened, mouth full of insults and threats I was itching to spit at him. He left me! He went straight home after his little shopping spree (or wherever he was after dropping me off) and never bothered to come pick me up. The nerve of that man…

I waited for him in the parking lot like a fool. People walked past me, laughing at me, those familiar with the fact that he was my driver mocking me about my poor disciplining skills. I tried calling him, but he wouldn't pick up. I've sent countless of text messages, a few voicemails, and nothing. He never came, never answered, never did anything to acknowledge my obvious attempts to contact him.

So I had to walk home.

"What the hell, Damon?" I demanded.

He laughed, mocking my hair messed by the wind, my obvious anger I barely kept under control. "Have fun walking?" he asked, eyebrows raised in that cute little way I always thought was so adorable. Wait, what was I thinking? I was pissed at him. This was no time to be thinking of how cute or adorable or hot he was (and he _was_ freaking hot, trust me). "I thought you could use a good workout."

"Where have you been?"

"Home," he replied nonchalantly.

"You were supposed to pick me up," I said.

"And I didn't. What are you gonna do about it?" Damon inquired. There it was again, that gleam in his eyes, that familiar rebellion he always kept at hand. It's like he wanted to be punished, wanted to make me hurt him, injure him, break him down just like every other person who owned him broke him.

To be honest, I felt tempted to do just that. "Don't make me do things I'll regret."

He got up from the bed and walked over to me, only this time there was no sexual tension, no desire coming from him. I, on the other hand, instantly found myself overwhelmed, my thoughts blinded by images of what I wished to do to him, to do _with_ him. How could someone so arrogant and stubborn have that effect on me? How is it that he managed to pull every trigger that kept me in control and still act so nonchalant about it, as if he doesn't know his mere presence sends every nerve in my body into overdrive because my self-control skills are seriously lacking?

"Do it, then. Punish me. Hurt me," he whispered into my ear, his voice a soft, yet at the same time menacing, almost hostile purr. "Break me."

"Back off. I order you to back off," I said sternly.

"This attitude suits you," he said. I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a compliment or an insult. "Feels good, doesn't it? To finally be yourself."

"Back, Damon," I hissed.

He shook his head. "Make me," he said, taking me by the hands. I shivered at his touch, but decided to keep it cool. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction to see he's managed to get to me. Because he hasn't. Not by a longshot. Or he was and I was in serious denial. I'll let you be the judge of that. "Come on, Elena. You know you want to."

I pulled back, slapping his hands away. I knew what game he was playing, what he wanted to accomplish with his little rebellious acts. He wanted to be hurt, hated, just like he was in every other home he's had the displeasure to live in. It's just easier that way; easier to pretend those feelings he had for me didn't exist if he managed to get me to do horrible things to him, easier for him to hate me if I hurt him without knowing I would be the one who'd hate myself the most if I was to allow that to happen.

"You're right: I do want to," I said. It was one of worst lies I've ever told, one that will haunt me forever. "And I will if you don't stop pushing my buttons."

"Go on, then. Show me what you've got. Shut me up," Damon demanded. "Make me beg for mercy."

"Enough, Damon!" I exclaimed, fed up with his mind games. "You want me to take charge? Fine, I will. But it will be on my terms, Damon. Not yours. _Mine._ Now excuse me, I have to get ready for my date."

This obviously startled him, but he said nothing as I went through my closet to find the right clothes. I could see it hurt him that I was going out with someone else, but he wouldn't let it show. He couldn't. He let those walls he built around him shield him again, hiding behind a mirage; a fantasy he and I both knew would never come true. We couldn't let it come true.

He wanted me and I wanted him. I pretended not to care, he pretended to hate me. It was a game of pretend neither of us was prepared for, and neither of us would come out a winner as we both, in our own ways, tried so hard to push the other away, making things worse in the process.

The more rebellious he became, the harder I found myself falling for him. In a perfect world we would be together, free of all obstacles, with no society and rules to hold us back.

In this one? Well, I guess we'll have to find a way to work together and push these unwelcome feelings aside.

* * *

><p>It was bitchy of me to have Damon drive me to the Grill, where my date, who I so wished was him, was waiting for me. I gave him a direct order to come pick me up when I call him, following it with a threat of harm I had no intention of fulfilling and which he, for some reason only known to him, found to be fascinating and appealing. I just wanted him to know I was serious.<p>

So far it worked.

I greeted Matt with a kiss to the cheek, though it was obvious he expected at least a peck on the lips. It hurt to play with his feelings for him, but I needed a distraction, and if he was able to give me one, I was fine with being a bitch for just one night. I've had enough practice being bitchy with Damon that I was practically a pro. I could probably win some _The Best Bitch_ tournament or contest or something like that.

We found ourselves a table as far away from other guests as possible and ordered some junk food the Grill served under the false name of dinner.

"So how have you been?" I asked, taking a bite out of my hamburger. Damn, it was good. The Grill may have been a shithole, but it had some of the best fast food in town, and not to mention, it was the only place that welcomed teenagers with their don't-ask-don't-tell policy regarding serving alcohol and selling cigarettes to minors. I've found myself enjoying this place from time to time. My brother even more, but that was a whole different story I just wasn't ready to think about, let alone tell.

"Good," Matt replied. "Glad to finally have a day off." He worked at the Grill; he was one of their best employees, always on time, never complaining about terrible working conditions and even worse paychecks that at least arrived on time, unlike all other shitholes in this dump of a town which were known to mistreat employees and deny payments for work just for the hell of it. "You?"

"Oh, I've been fine," I replied. _Liar,_ my conscience accused. _You're everything but fine._

"No boyfriends? Girlfriends?" he asked playfully, raising an eyebrow. I stared. "What? I don't judge."

"None," I said, laughing. "How about you?"

"Singling."

"Singling is good."

He nodded. "Indeed. There's no one you're interested in?" He wiggled his eyebrows; it was a move so similar to that of Damon's, but not even remotely as sexy.

"Nope," I lied.

"I find that hard to believe," Matt said with a smile. His smile was gorgeous; really dorky and awkward, though beautiful and cute. Still, Damon's was better; hotter, sexier, more mysterious than Matt's could ever be.

"Why is that?"

"The Elena I knew always had her eye on someone." He looked at me, searching for truth in my eyes. God, his eyes were so blue and pretty. Not as blue and pretty as Damon's, though; Damon's were bluer, prettier, they could stare right into your soul without even trying and win you over in a heartbeat just for the sole fact that they belonged to him, the most beautiful man on Earth no one could ever compare to.

"Maybe I changed," I said.

A couple minutes passed by in the most awkward silence until Matt finally spoke: "What are you doing here with me? Other than Caroline forcing you into it."

"What do you mean?" I inquired, feigning innocence. _Guilty._

"It's obvious you don't want to be here. So why are you?"

"I guess I need a friend," I answered, for the first time tonight offering a half-truth. "A guy friend. I needed to get away from…" _From Damon._ "From home for a while."

"Your parents giving you trouble?"

"Something like that. I'm sorry for… this. I know you expected more, but the truth is, Matt, I can't give it to you."

"It's okay," Matt assured me, reaching for my hand. Not even his touch, so gentle and tender, could compare to Damon's forceful, rough, and yet so magnetic one I found myself craving for some unknown reason I couldn't explain. I can be so damn confusing sometimes, even for myself. "I understand. To tell you the truth, I had my doubts. I'm fine with us being just friends."

"You are?" I asked, allowing myself to sigh in relief.

"I am."

He smiled again and I couldn't help but think of Damon's smile for the second time tonight. Matt's will never reach the high level of Damon's; nothing he did could ever compare to what Damon does, because Damon does it so much better without even trying. Matt was the sweetest, kindest, nicest guy I knew, but he wasn't Damon.

No one could ever be Damon. Damon just _is_ and that's what makes him so special.

Maybe I had high expectations no one could possibly live up to. Or I was simply in too deep when it came to Damon, head over heels, a helpless victim to passion he awoke within me without even batting an eye.

"There's a school dance in a couple weeks. Wanna come?" Matt asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. "As friends", he quickly clarified.

"Sounds great," I said. I'd rather go with Damon, though. I'd rather do everything with Damon. Because no one could ever measure up to him and it was killing me that I let him do this to me, that I let myself do this to my own emotions because it was, all of it, my entire fault.

Damon couldn't be blamed for existing. I, however, could for letting myself fall for him. If only I'd known this would've been so difficult, I would've tried my hardest to stay as far away as possible.

But the damage is done and there is no turning back. The only thing I could do for now is try to forget.

And try I will.

* * *

><p><strong>See? This is what happens when you get addicted to something (or in Elena's case, to <strong>_**someone**_** we all know and love).**

**I said it before, but I'll say it again: if you see any mistakes (grammar, spelling, even typos), point them out. English is not my first language and pointing out mistakes could help me a lot.  
><strong>


	6. The Moment I Knew

**I'm really grateful for the reviews, favorites, follows, and everything else you amazing people did for this story! *hugs you all***

**There's a link to my YouTube channel in my profile. I'd appreciate it if you would check it out (got some Delena videos there).**

**I would just like to say that Delena as portrayed in this story isn't the healthiest of relationships. I made a disclaimer in chapter one and I stand by it. Just wanted you to know in case anyone got funny ideas. I am a little (okay, a bit more than a little) crazy, but I know the difference between fiction and reality. I'm a sucker for fictional dysfunctional relationships, but when it comes to real life, I'm highly against abuse of any kind and think the abusers are the worst of the worst. That's all, folks.**

**Those spoiler pictures you've seen on my Tumblr will make a lot more sense after reading this.**

**Listen to Taylor Swift's The Moment I Knew while reading. It was kinda what inspired this chapter (and what the title is named after), so credits to Taylor and her amazing song.**

**More lines from the show here (the ones that fit), with slight modifications. You'll see what I mean.**

* * *

><p><em>And it was like slow motion<em>

_Standing there in my party dress_

_In red lipstick_

_With no one to impress_

_And they're all laughing_

_And asking me about you_

_But there was one thing missing_

_And that was the moment I knew_

_~ The Moment I Knew by Taylor Swift_

* * *

><p><strong>~ The Moment I Knew ~<strong>

* * *

><p>Damon and my relationship changed for the worse lately. I've been strict, harsh even, everything I was so strongly against and everything he wanted me to be from the start. I hoped he'd understand one day I meant him no harm. I'd threaten him, walk toward him in a menacing manner, raise my hand, but never hit him. I'd never let myself sink that low again.<p>

Still, the more I threatened, the more vicious he'd become. He was getting out of control, breaking things, ruining my homework, tearing up pictures I explicably told him not to touch. My parents noticed, too; it's kinda hard not to hear the sounds of glass, plastic and everything else he could get his hands on breaking. They told me I should solve the problem with at least a little bit of corporal punishment and even agreed to lend me some whips and belts, but I declined.

Hitting him was the last resort. I promised to both him and myself I'd never cause him physical pain and I intended to keep it. If only it wasn't so fucking difficult, damn near impossible.

I had my suspicions that this sudden change in demeanor happened because I went out with Matt that one time and agreed to accompany him to the school dance (not to mention I made him drive me to my date that one time. Yeah, I know I'm a bitch). No, those weren't suspicions: it was the truth so obvious that I should have figured it out the first time Damon threw me that dirty look (and it was not the kind of dirty look I like) before breaking one of the vases. I never really liked that ugly old thing so he kinda did me a favor by shattering it, but still.

His jealousy is his problem. It's not like we're a thing or anything. Though I'd really like us to be.

I've had it with him the day I returned from a small trip to the store to get some snacks only to find him going through my underwear drawer again. I was beyond disgusted, shaking with both anger and embarrassment. I told him not to go near my underwear, warned him about it multiple times. Why was it so hard for him to listen?

"Put that down!" I ordered, pointing to a red pair of panties he held in his hand.

He smirked at me, openly disobeying me, and brought the panties to his nose, taking in the smell. I snatched them away and sealed them back in the drawer, sending Damon my most dangerous glare.

"They smell like you," he commented, doing that eyebrow thing I always find myself falling for.

_Calm down, Elena. You're angry. This isn't about attraction; it's about disobedience._ My mind screamed rage, whilst my body thirsted for him, his closeness, all of him next to me or, better yet, inside of me. My lips desired him, hungry for kisses only he could provide and make them so, so delicious. _You're mad,_ I told myself, but no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I couldn't turn those emotions, those feelings I harbored into hatred because this is Damon we're talking about, and you don't nor _can_ hate Damon because with hating him came hating his eyes, and those baby blues could get you to do everything he wants you to just by looking into yours.

I could be mad at him, hurt him, break him, but never hate him.

"Do it, Elena," Damon said, getting in my face. "Punish me."

"Maybe I will," I retorted.

"Go on, then. I can't wait to see what you come up with."

"You don't want that, trust me."

"I'm pretty sure I do."

The more he challenged me, dared me, I felt tempted to reach for something, anything, just to give him what he wants. If it was pain he wanted, I was ready to give it to him, even if it went against everything I stood for. "Don't make me do this, Damon," I said, struggling to keep my balance, to keep my emotions from bursting. He knew how to play me, push my buttons just the right way.

And I hated it. I was supposed to be the one in control, yet it was him who played this game that were our miserable lives like a pro. I stood no chance; just like always, he appeared closer to victory than I ever will when it should have been the other way around.

"Do it," he said, more sternly this time, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. "Show me you're in charge. Come on, I know you have it in you. Let it go, Elena. Just… let it go."

"What if I don't want to?" I asked.

He replied by grabbing the perfume I recently bought (it was expensive as hell, but Caroline insisted it smelled nice and suited me) and smashing it against the wall.

"Still not convinced?" he asked and took one of the pictures off the wall, ripping it apart like it was nothing. "This good enough?"

Another picture ruined, then another, and another.

"Does this earn me at least a little bit of pain?"

"Stop it!" I begged, but he just kept going, ripping picture after picture, smashing every perfume bottle in sight.

"Make me!"

Angry and defeated, I burst out the room and ran straight for the basement, heading for the box where I knew my dad kept his _tools,_ as he called them. It was filled with weapons used for torture, all kinds of objects that looked very wrong, most of which I couldn't even name (nor did I want to name them). There had to be something in there I could use, something that wouldn't cause too much damage, but would still give Damon what he so obviously desired, or at least wanted me to inflict on him.

I pushed aside different kinds of whips and belts, not even considering using those. I may have been a bitch for doing this, but I wasn't a sadistic bitch. There were collars, shackles, chains, shards made out of what appeared to be glass, but you can never be sure with these kinds of things. None looked appealing to me; I wanted to punish Damon by scaring him, not cause him serious physical harm. Heavens know he's had too much of that in his lifetime.

It took me a while before a finally found it, allowing the tiniest of smiles to creep onto my lips. It was a collar with small spikes on its surface; they weren't sharp enough to pierce the skin, but I imagine they must cause quite a discomfort for the wearer. The collar was attached to a chain that disturbingly resembled a dog's leash and I had to take a moment to clear my head of dirty thoughts that gathered, of me in Damon in positions I hated myself for even thinking of. This was about punishment, not my perverted fantasies.

_Perfect,_ I thought to myself. This should be enough.

Damon smirked at me as I returned, his eyes glued to the collar I clutched, an amused gleam in his eyes.

"Just remember that _you_ wanted this," I said sternly and he flinched, trying to hide the fear I could sense from him despite his wishes for pain coming true. _"You_ made me do this. I _didn't_ want this."

He approached me ever so slowly, eyes darting from my own to the tool in my hands. "What's that do?" he inquired, reaching for it. I slapped his hand away a bit too harshly and he twitched at the sudden display of violence.

"What you wanted," I replied. "Now kneel."

He laughed in my face, obviously not convinced, the little fear he possessed now gone, replaced with curiosity.

"I said kneel!" I ordered, putting my hands on his shoulders and pushing him down. He crumbled to his knees before me, eyes wide in panic, completely at my mercy. I felt up his neck with my fingers gently; it was almost a caress, a small display of affection before the upcoming violence.

I gripped his hair with as much force I could muster and he winced in pain as I pulled, using my other hand to clip the collar around his neck. After it was finally in its place, I slightly pulled the chain and Damon hissed in discomfort, eyes never leaving mine, almost begging. Taking a deep breath, I whipped the chain back and he rose to his feet, hands around his neck feeling up the sore spots, breathing heavily.

I looked away, ashamed of myself. What was wrong with me? This is wrong, I shouldn't be doing this. This is exactly what he wanted; make me feel guilty, make me hate myself for hurting him. Because if I hated myself, it wouldn't hurt him so much that I didn't want him the way he clearly wanted me, or at least he thought I didn't. He was mad at me, mad that I rejected him, wanted payback for pushing him away and hurting him when he was at his most vulnerable.

From his point of view it must have looked like I took advantage of his trust, and thinking about it only made me feel worse. He was playing me like a puppet, pulling the strings, getting revenge for something neither of us wanted in the first place.

"Don't pretend you're not enjoying this," he said all of a sudden and I forced myself to look at him. "Deep down you know this is what you wanted from the start."

I pulled at the chain again, getting him to come closer, studying his pained expression now overwhelmed with hatred I knew was fake, yet I still couldn't help but be affected by it. "Why, Damon? Why are you doing this to me?" I was close to tears, trembling, the hand gripping the chain shaking, barely holding on to it.

"You're doing this to yourself," he responded, his voice full of contempt.

"No, you're doing this to me. _You!_ And I want to know why!" I demanded. Now it was my turn to get into his face. "Why are you forcing me into this when you know how much I hate it?"

"You're the master in this relationship, Elena," Damon said. "You're the one pulling the strings. I'm just a puppet and you played me like a fool."

"No. You're just messing with my head."

"Keep saying that. You already believe it."

"If you're jealous that I'm going to the dance with someone else…" I trailed off and he laughed, and laughed, and laughed at my uncomfortable expression.

"You think this is about jealousy?"

That was apparently supposed to make me believe otherwise, but the way his voice cracked as he finished the sentence showed just how he really felt about me taking Matt to the dance. If only he knew it was him I wanted to take. I'd take him anywhere and everywhere I went just to have him by my side at all times because that's how special he was to me, that's how much I cared about him, and I knew he felt the same.

No, I think it was more than that. There's only so much love you can show somebody. This with him wasn't only love; it was passion, devotion, torture he attempted to inflict on me to make it hurt less because it was too much pain for one man to take, and he was hurt too many times by too many people in his life to be alone in this.

If only I was allowed to take it away, to let everything go and wrap my arms around him and kiss all this pain, all this suffering, all this negativity away for good.

"Then what _is _it about?" I demanded.

He scoffed, looking away for a moment before locking his eyes with mine. He stayed silent the entire time, just staring, his baby blues piercing my chocolate does, gazing straight into my soul that had surely turned the color of coal black because after this, after what I just did to him, there had to be darkness all around it blocking all the light I once had and sealing it away for good.

"Tell me the truth, Damon!" I insisted. "I order you to be honest with me." I weakly pulled at the chain to prove I was serious and he grunted in discomfort. "For once just do as you're told."

"What is it that you want me to say, Elena?" he demanded.

"Why are you so mad at me?"

"I'm mad at you because I love you!"

I gasped, shocked to hear those very words come out of his mouth. I guess it was to be expected. I did, after all, feel the same. But to say it like that? Just let it out in the open without much struggle? Honestly, I thought he'd put up more of a fight. This is Damon fucking Salvatore. He puts up fights about everything, from me demanding he ease it up on the bourbon in the evening to at which time exactly my alarm should ring, only to give this up without batting an eye. Guess I really did finish him off, ended what so many others before me started, and it stung like a fucking bitch.

I had to do something about it. This antagonism couldn't keep up; it was too much even for me. How I wish I could pull him close, crash my lips against his, give him the time of his life. I could imagine us living somewhere far away, just the two of us, happy and safe from harm, free to do what we liked. But this wasn't a fantasy; the world we lived in was dangerous. Hell, the people we lived with were dangerous.

So I did what I always do at times like this; I said the wrong thing, completely broke him down, shattered what little confidence he had in himself because I'm just bitchy like that and I hate myself for it.

"Maybe that's the problem."

"Fuck you, Elena," he spat after a silent moment, glaring at me with hate so intense it made me die a little on the inside.

I sniffled, wiping my eyes, and ran to the closet. Picking out the perfect dress for tomorrow night seemed like the only thing I could do right now, the only thing that didn't send my emotions into overdrive, the only thing that kept me from harming myself as punishment for acting like such a bitch to the one person who least deserved it.

_Forgive me,_ I begged to myself, violently showing dresses left and right as none seemed decent enough. _Please, forgive me, Damon. I'm sorry._

* * *

><p>For once Damon didn't have to be my driver. Matt agreed to pick me up, sneaking me a few glances as we drove in silence. It could see pleasure in his eyes, joy to finally go to a dance with me after all this time, only now I realized something odd – he didn't look at me like a lovesick boy he used to be. It was friendship his silence offered, a friendly night of fun we both needed.<p>

I smiled, letting a little bit of happiness show. I could always use a friend, and was glad Matt was finally starting to let go of the love fantasies and let our friendship bloom.

We had trouble finding a parking spot as there were cars everywhere, belonging to both students and teachers. The crowd gathered in the schoolyard, dancing and laughing to way too loud music, drinking, and having fun in general.

Matt took me to a drink stand, where Caroline and Bonnie stood, welcoming me with smiles. I could see Jeremy somewhere in the background, hanging around people who couldn't look more suspicious if they tried, but I decided to ignore him. This was my night. I was going to relax and forget all troubles, and let nothing get in my way.

"You look amazing," Caroline complimented, enveloping me in a hug.

"Thanks."

I wore the shortest red dress I could find and matching way-too-high heels. My hair was slightly curled and on my lips was apple-red lipstick I bought specifically for tonight. This was a look I'd usually frown upon, but tonight I decided to live a little. Let it go, as Damon said.

_Damon…_ The thought of him brought back memories of yesterday and my heart sank in an instant, aching, punishing me for hurting him the worst way possible. I'd left him all alone in my room, that wretched collar still attached to his neck; I didn't even say goodbye. What if something happens and I never said goodbye? What if…?

_Calm down, Elena. Everything's going to be okay._ I will be fine, Damon will be fine. He'll get over everything, even if it takes years. He'll have to, he's stuck with me whether he likes it or not.

Still, I couldn't help but wish he was my date to this dance. I had no doubt he was a marvelous dancer; he was amazing at everything he did, always tried his best, never let me down. I wanted him to be here, wanted his presence instead of Matt's, his compliments and hugs instead of Caroline's. God, what was wrong with me?

I felt tears welling up in my eyes and my friends looked at me with worry.

"Elena?" Bonnie said, reaching for my hand. "Is everything okay?"

"Are you alright?" Caroline asked, that adorable smile leaving her face.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just… that time of the month," I quickly said and they all nodded, satisfied with the obviously fake answer.

"My, Elena, don't you look ravishing tonight?" commented Rebekah, her presence, as always, unwelcome. She put a hand on her hip, smiling at me, mocking me, her mean girl bitch mode full on. But then again, when wasn't it on? "Where's your boy-toy? I expected to see him with you. Such a shame, I was looking forward to meeting him."

"Goodbye, Rebekah," Caroline hissed.

"No need to be rude. I just wanted to say hi." Rebekah turned on her heel, flapping her hair seductively, eyeing every single one of us in the process. "See you around, losers."

"I swear, one day I'm going to bitch-slap that girl into oblivion and it will be the most amazing feeling ever," Caroline said, prompting Bonnie and me to smile.

"How about we dance?" Matt suggested after a short while, and then looked over to Bonnie and Caroline. "You guys wouldn't mind if we ditched you?"

"No, of course not," Bonnie said.

"Go for it," Caroline added.

He took me to the dance floor, amidst the loudest and most obnoxious crowd I've ever seen, and let me lean my head on his shoulder in search for comfort. We moved along with the crowd, following the music, letting it take us over. I closed my eyes, traveling to a place far away, where there were only Damon and me, dancing, having fun, laughing together.

It should be him here with me. I should lean against his shoulder, enjoy the warmth of his body, listen to the sweet lullaby that was his voice. He should spin me around, give me the time of my life. Rebekah was right, in a way. He should be here. Not Matt.

Damon.

"I'm sorry, Matt, but I can't do this," I finally said, raising my head.

"Who is he?"

Matt's question startled me and I shot him a puzzled look. "Who is who?"

"The guy you're trying to get your mind off."

"I'm not-" I tried, but he could see right through me.

"Come on, Elena. I can see it; everyone can see it. You obviously only agreed to come to this dance with me because you want to forget someone."

"He... It's complicated. I'm really sorry, Matt, for doing this to you."

"I'm not mad," he said.

"You're a great guy, Matt. You deserve someone who will appreciate you." _Someone who's not me._

"So do you. He's a lucky guy, whoever he is. Hope he treats you right."

"He does. It's me that's the problem," I admitted.

"You'll get around it. I know you, Elena. You always find a way."

"It's not that easy." I felt like I could trust him with this. He was a good guy, a nice person. I knew he wouldn't judge me. "He's my slave."

He just smiled; it was a warm, friendly smile, full of hope and encouragement. Matt was the only person I knew who didn't own slaves. No one in his family did. It was one of the reasons I dated him in the past and trusted him now.

"It doesn't matter."

"But what if I hurt him? What if I end up hurting us both?"

"You won't. I think you're hurting both yourself and him when you're like this. Denial doesn't suit you, Elena. Neither does sadness. If it's real, don't walk away."

I took a moment to think about his words before finally saying: "Thank you, Matt. This really helped."

I hugged him, tightly, with seemingly no intention of letting go. He was right; I shouldn't walk away if it's real. And it was, it couldn't be more real. I wanted Damon, wanted him with all my soul, my heart, my entire being. I needed him like I need to breathe the air. He was my sun, my sky, my everything. I needed him in my life – no, he _was_ my life.

If I let him go now, I could miss out on an opportunity of my life. Who cares what the world, the community, this town, my parents think? Fuck them! Fuck everyone! This isn't about them; it's about us, our love, our lives, our happiness.

He loved me and I loved him. It was that simple.

"I need to go," I said, and Matt nodded in understanding, sending me one last encouraging smile.

I ran home, ignoring the pain in my feet due to my high heels, my thoughts occupied by Damon. I passed Rebekah on my way and ignored her snarky commentary, her ignorant, mocking giggles and laughs. Nothing mattered but Damon, nothing but him made sense to me anymore.

I stormed into my home with impeccable speed, my parents sending me weird glances as if I was crazy, but I didn't care. Isobel was again cleaning something, but I paid no attention to her. She didn't matter, her work didn't matter. No one but _him_ mattered.

I slammed the door behind me, startling Damon, who was, for some strange reason, sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. He looked at me, unsure what to say, wondering if it was something about him that made me come back so fast, slam the door with such fury. He was scared, I realized. I frightened him, he didn't know what to expect of me anymore.

"We need to talk," I said and he raised an eyebrow, questioning my intentions. "Please."

It was then I realized his pained expression, the strange state he was in. His dark shirt seemed a few shades darker, unusually messy and ripped at some places.

"What happened?"

He said nothing as I knelt down before him and gently lifted his shirt, revealing open wounds on top of scars, blood seeping out of them still fresh. His neck, still enveloped with the collar, bled as well, cuts and bruises forming where the spikes grazed the skin. _They did it again,_ I realized, tearing up. _They fucking did it again!_

"Let me help you," I said tenderly, attempting to remove his shirt, but he pushed me away, still furious, shooting me a glare. "Please," I begged.

"Pull it, Elena," he rasped, handing me the chain with trembling hands. "You know you want to."

"No."

I took the chain from him and unclipped the collar, freeing his neck. It was only now that I could see the full extent of his injuries. His neck was bruised, redness marking the skin the collar was pressed against, blood pouring out the small wounds inflicted by the spikes. He hissed in pain as I ran my finger across the smallest cut, as tenderly and carefully as possible, wiping a drop of blood away.

"I'm so sorry, Damon," I whispered. "I am so, so sorry."

The smirk I was so accustomed to returned to his face as he said: "It was worth it."

"What was? What did you do?"

"Bourbon," was his only reply.

"But you have your own."

He shook his head. "All gone."

It's only now become clear to me; I haven't been giving him money lately and he must have spent all of his own. I sighed, regretful, and ran to the bathroom for some cloths I could use to clean his wounds. This time he let me remove his shirt, wincing and grunting every time I rubbed a particularly sore place.

I couldn't keep the tears from my eyes; they were falling down my cheeks, blurring my sight. My hands shook and I kept mumbling apologies over and over as my every move seemed to cause him pain. I told my parents they weren't to touch him. I warned them I'd sue. How could they do this? He was my responsibility. They had no right.

I decided to deal with them later. Damon needed me now and I had to give him all of me.

"I came back for you," I said, breaking the silence.

"What, your _date," _he spat the word _date _venomously, "couldn't get it up and you finally realized having a slave was fun in more than one way?" He looked over to the discarded collar and I sighed in annoyance, realizing what he was implying. I may have been a lot of things, may have done horrendous things, but I would never do _that _to him against his will. Hell, I wouldn't do it without his written permission just to be sure his wishes are respected. As I said, even bitches like me have standards.

"No. You're not a slave to me, Damon," I said truthfully. "I don't look at you like that."

He snorted, then once again hissed in pain as I grazed a sensitive wound. "Don't act so high and mighty, it doesn't suit you. You don't have to pretend around me. You enjoy toying with me, with my feelings. You want to earn my trust just so you can stab me in the back all over again." He pointed at the collar. "You liked that thing, didn't you? You liked how it allowed you such control over me. It made it so much easier for me to be your little bitch."

"That's not true," I said. I wasn't going to let him anger me again. This time I wanted to try with a softer approach; what I've been meaning to say was extremely difficult. "I hated it. You know that. It was _you_ who manipulated me into it." I cleared my throat; the point of this wasn't to make him look like the culprit. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel guilty, or think he has to feel guilty. The only one worthy of guilt was me. "And I get it. I understand how angry you must feel, but you need to stop trying to make me out to be a villain when all I ever wanted was to help you."

"You-"

"Let me finish," I interrupted, letting the bloody cloth fall down and looking Damon directly in the eye. "I can't live like this anymore. This antagonism or whatever it is between us has to end. Just let it go." I brought my palm to his chin and gently caressed it; he flinched at first, expecting harm, but quickly relaxed under my tender touch. "I'm sorry I slapped you. I'm sorry I put that terrible thing around your neck and let my parents hurt you. I'm sorry I made it seem like I was toying with your emotions, because that was never my intention. None of this was."

I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down enough to allow words to leave my mouth.

"The truth is, I was afraid. I care about you so much and I thought, if I acted on my feelings, I'd end up hurting you. You were never the problem; your love for me was never the problem. It was me. _I_ was in the wrong and for that I am so sorry."

I stroked his cheek ever so gently and he looked at me with those eyes once again filled with love, no traces of contempt I expected to find.

"You deserve so much better than me."

"Elena," he whispered, putting his hand on top of mine, giving it a light squeeze.

"This is a terrible world we live in, Damon. No one will understand. No doubt, some will try to break us apart, but I don't care. Not anymore," I stated. "I can't stand to live with you hating me. So fuck the world, fuck everyone. I don't care what they're going to say. Out of all the choices that I've made this will either prove to be the best or worst one, but I am not sorry that I'm in love with you! I love you, Damon!"

I kissed him, hard, and he kissed back. There was this warmth again, this welcoming surge of energy and passion flying around, engulfing us, protecting us. I melted in his arms, let him take control, let him lead to the very end.

Boy, was he magnificent. The way he moved, the way he held and kissed me, the way his tongue explored my mouth, everything was perfect. He was a god in human form, so intoxicating, too addictive for my own good. I couldn't get enough of him.

I tried to be gentle to not reopen his injuries, but he rushed me, pain forgotten in this whirlpool of burning passion. His strong arms enveloped me, pulling me close, and I let everything go. There was fire all around us, burning hot, clinging to our bodies, bringing us closer together almost like magic.

"I love you," I whispered through kisses.

"I love you," he replied and I moaned in pleasure as his lips once again crashed into mine, sending shivers of hot, addictive energy down my spine, bringing my blood so close to the boiling point I felt like my insides would explode.

Toxic. Deadly. Dangerous. Addictive. Infuriating. Electric. That was Damon Salvatore. He was my drug and I was his. I needed all of him, couldn't let go for dear life. There was no one such as him out there, no one so arrogant, yet at the same time so magnetic and irresistible. There was only one Damon.

And he was mine.

It was now that everything became clear to me. True love prevails, the universe be damned.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank Qetsiyah for the final line. Fits quite well, don't you think?<strong>


	7. The Masochism Tango

**There's drama going on in my life at the moment and I'm sorry for the late update.**

**I fixed the commas in earlier chapters. Thank you, Wonderlust Of A Lost Girl! Turns out some grammar rules in Croatia are ****different from **** English-speaking countries'.**

**This chapter is named after a TV Tropes article.**

* * *

><p><em>So it's gonna be forever<em>

_Or it's gonna go down in flames_

_You can tell me when it's over_

_If the high was worth the pain_

_~ Blank Space by Taylor Swift_

* * *

><p><strong>~ The Masochism Tango ~<strong>

* * *

><p>"Good morning."<p>

Damon smiled at me, his arms protectively wrapped around me as my head rested on his chest.

"Morning," he replied.

We sneaked a short kiss, a small sign of love we had only last night gathered enough courage to give into. He put his arms around me again, giving a light squeeze, and I could feel myself melting in his touch.

I suggested we lay off touching until his wounds at least partially healed, but he insisted, saying me being this close to him made him feel better, numbed his pain to the point where he could barely feel it. Who was I to argue with Damon logic? Especially since I couldn't take my arms off him either, not anymore, not now that we've finally given into this lust that overwhelmed us, filled us with love and desire and temptation we had no intention of resisting.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, my fingers gently covering one of the countless cuts on his chest, tracing it, feeling it.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" he countered with a smirk. Another challenge, another dare, only now I didn't mind. I don't think I'll ever again mind his little remarks, not now that I've let him so close.

I had no intention of letting him get away, even if the whole wide world fights against us, even if heavens rage against our love. We can get through anything as long as we're together; every obstacle, every threat, every judging look. None of it matters anymore. None of it.

The only thing that matters is us.

"Damon," I warned playfully and he laughed in return.

It was a Saturday morning, rainy and stormy like most days were lately. Autumn has taken over, but I didn't mind. Not as long as I had him. Even if hell froze over, I knew I would be alright as long as I had Damon by my side.

"I'll go get us breakfast."

I quickly put on some clothes before descending down the stairs and heading for the fridge. My parents greeted me with smiles on their faces, though I gave no indication I've heard a word that came out of their filthy mouths I so wanted to introduce over and over to my fists. They were in for an argument, alright, but not just yet.

For now I just wanted to enjoy a pleasant breakfast with my boyfriend (yes, boyfriend) without interference. If only they didn't make it so hard for me to concentrate on silence. Why was it so hard for them to stop talking?

"I know you're mad, sweetheart, but we need to talk," mom said in her sweetest, fakest voice.

"That slave of yours needs more discipline," dad said. "He needs to learn his place. I know you said-"

"Not now," I hissed, doing my best to ignore their grating voices.

"He needed to be taught a lesson," mom added.

"I said not now!" I exclaimed so loudly I think I woke the entire neighborhood.

"Keep it down! Some of us are trying to sleep!" I heard Jeremy holler from upstairs and frowned. He sounded hungover, like he's done nothing but drink and know what else in the past few days. It was strange to find him home, especially at such an early hour. Guess whoever he was staying with kicked him out, or mom and dad's talks finally annoyed him enough that he decided to come home just to make them stop talking.

"Yes, now, Elena," dad demanded and I shot him a threatening glare.

Fine. If they wanted talk, I'll give them talk.

"Why is it so hard for you to listen to me? Can't you just once do as I said and leave my…" I was about to say _boyfriend,_ but quickly corrected myself. I wasn't ready to tell them just yet. "…Slave to me?"

"Honey, we-" mom tried, but dad cut her off, giving a more straightforward, honest answer.

"We don't think you're doing a good job as his master. You give him too much freedom and he's taking advantage of it."

"You did a great job with the collar," mom offered a compliment, "only we don't think you know how to use it properly."

"You apparently do, if last night was any indication," I snapped.

"We'd be more than happy to teach you-"

"No! No more collar. No more anything. This is my last warning," I said, eyeing both of them to show just how serious I was. "If he does something, let me take care of it. Touch him again and I will make you regret it. Now excuse me, I have to get ready for _our_ trip."

"Trip?" mom inquired.

Dad raised an eyebrow, obviously mad at me for threatening him and trying to hide it. "What trip?"

"One that doesn't include you."

With that I picked up the food I've chosen and ran back to my room. Damon was sitting on the bed and playing a game on his phone, waiting for me to get back with our food. I noticed he used my absence to get dressed and for a moment I felt myself shiver at the sight of him.

He was dressed in all black, still shirtless though, the mere sight of him gorgeous. He resembled a dark angel, so heavenly and yet so dangerous, fallen from heaven just for me, just for my pleasure.

I put the food down next to him and sat down, kissing his cheek just to get a small taste of what I yearned for.

We may have come from different worlds, but now they've united into one of great power and love. I didn't know where he ended and I began, my feelings, desires, my very existence synchronized with his, fulfilling him, giving him strength to overcome this pain I know he was in, the pain he desperately tried to hold back for my sake.

"We're leaving," I said softly and he just glanced at me, his eyes slowly descending to my lips, itching for a taste.

"Why? What happened?" he asked, confused. He took my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, a touch so tender I once again felt tempted to pull him close to me and keep him in my arms for as long as I desired.

"I'll explain later."

"It's your parents, isn't it? What did they say?" he insisted.

"Don't worry about it. We'll talk later, I promise."

"Did they suggest you tighten the leash? Pull the chain harder? Crack the whip?"

"Please, Damon," I begged. Why did he have to be such a masochist at times? "I don't want to talk about them now. Look what they did to you. "

"It's nothing I can't handle," Damon said. He brought my hand to his chest and pressed it against it, against his open wounds; I tried to pull away, but the more I fought, the tighter his grip got. "Come on, Elena. Touch it. Feel it. _Rip_ it. Make it bleed."

"Why are you being like this?" I demanded, and suddenly everything started to make sense. I noticed it now: whenever my parents popped up in a conversation, his demeanor changed. He expected me to fall for their words, let my violent side surface, hurt him, break him down and rip him apart until there is nothing left, leave him cower in fear at my feet and make him beg for mercy.

He needed pain because he that's all he knew, all he was used to. No matter how much kindness I treated him with, it was pain that made him feel, pain that kept him going. He didn't think he deserved anything better. He was a slave and slaves are supposed to suffer. If only there was a way for me to show him there would be no more pain from now on, that I will do my best to help him recover, get him to accept kindness and respect as something normal, something he, the most beautiful and mesmerizing human being I've ever laid eyes on, deserved.

I think a part of him knew I only wanted what's best for him. He wouldn't have given me another chance if he had even the slightest doubt about my intentions. But still, he was trained to suffer, used to wounds and bruises. Bleeding was normal to him, whips, chains and belts necessities to make him obey.

"Don't to that," I said, pulling my hand back. He locked his eyes to mine, that rebellious streak back, ready to drive me over the edge again, make me question everything I knew.

"Do what, Elena?"

"You think you don't deserve something, so you ruin it. No more of that," I said. "Please."

He made no attempt to comment on it. He knew I was right and I knew he couldn't do anything about it even if he tried his hardest. He was trained that way, used to it. It wasn't easy to break habits integrated into his mind all those years he spent as nothing more than an accessory to be used and abused. Which didn't mean I wouldn't try. I wasn't going to give up on him just yet. I will fight for him to the end, until he realizes he can have everything he wants, everything a man as magnificent as him deserves.

"There are things you don't understand," Damon said and I nodded. He was right. But I _will_ understand, even if it kills me. I will help him, cherish him, nurture him to the highest point of health.

"Then help me understand. You're not alone in this, Damon," I said, wrapping my arms around him with as much care as possible. "You will never be alone again, I promise. Let me help you."

"What if I don't want your help?" he said sharply.

"We both know that's not true. Listen to me."

I cupped his face, making him look directly into my eyes, assuring him I meant well. He didn't react to my sudden touch like he used to, with fear of discipline, and I allowed myself to smile. This was an improvement. Small, but still an improvement. We were getting somewhere.

"I will keep you safe. This time I mean it. No one will ever lay a hand on you again. No one will ever hurt you like this. And if they do, I won't let them get away with it."

I traced his wounds, feeling them under my fingertips, trying to imagine how much it must hurt to be injured like this. This was the last time, it was a promise. Never again will anyone do this to him.

"I want you to be yourself with me. I love you, Damon. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone and I'm not gonna let you do this to yourself. Enough pain, enough everything. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

"I love you too, Elena."

We leant into a kiss, short but sweet, delicious, filling me with lust.

"Where are we going?" he asked as we parted and started nibbling on our breakfast.

"Lake house," I replied.

I wanted to spend some time with him alone. Now that we've officially upgraded our relationship, I felt compelled to take him somewhere far away from harm, somewhere we can have fun and be ourselves for at least a little while.

* * *

><p>My god, he looked so irresistible in that leather jacket he wore. He insisted that he be the driver and for the entire trip I kept my eyes glued to his chest, sculptured and angelic even in that too tight shirt I couldn't wait to rip off him.<p>

The lake house looked beautiful in the rain, its surroundings giving it a distant, lonely feel which was exactly what we needed. Solitude was good.

We made ourselves comfortable by the fireplace, leaning against each other, wrapped in an embrace that felt too good to be true. "I have something for you," I said, reaching for the bag and taking out a bottle I knew he'd love.

"Is that bourbon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Let's just say I borrowed it," I said, smiling. I knew my dad was going to have a major freak-out when he realized one of his most expensive bottles was missing, but I didn't give a damn. As long as Damon was happy and content, I didn't give a damn about anything. "What do you say? Will you share with me this time?"

"Only if you're good," he replied with a smirk.

"My, Mister Salvatore, you're hurting my feelings," I said, placing a hand over my heart. "You know I'm always on my best behavior."

"We'll see about that."

He gave me a small peck on the lips, but it was enough to drive me completely over the edge. I wanted him, craved him like a vampire craved blood, loved him with all my heart and wanted this – this moment, this attraction – to last forever. He consumed me, ravished me, his body the deadliest of poisons, too dangerous to be near, yet too magnetic to get away from.

"I'm really sorry," I whispered. There were no words I could use to express my regret for my mistreatment of him. No matter how many times I apologized, it didn't feel good enough. I just wanted him to know how much he meant to me, how much this, all of this, meant to me.

"Stop," he tried.

I shook my head. "No, I have to say it. I hurt you so much, Damon. I wanted to push you away to keep you safe and I ended up hurting you even more."

"We're starting over, Elena," he said. "You want that, don't you? A new beginning?"

"Of course."

"Then stop thinking about the past. It doesn't matter."

"It does to me. What if I hurt you again? What if I…?" I left my sentence hanging, overwhelmed by tears. What if I lose control and slap him again? What if he drives me so mad again and I go back for that wretched collar? What if I hit him, whip him, belt him? Usually I was perfectly in control, but he knew how to push my buttons. He brought out both the best and worst in me; he was either my blessing or my curse.

"You won't," Damon said. "I know you won't. It's me who should apologize. I wanted to hate you so much that I made you do horrible things to me. But even then, I still loved you. No matter what you did, no matter how horribly you treated me, I couldn't fall out of love with you and it was driving me crazy."

"We're bad for each other," I stated as the horrible realization dawned on me, and he nodded. "But it's worth it."

"It's all worth it," he agreed.

"I won't let you down again," I promised. "Never."

"Do you trust me, Elena?"

"I do," I said. "With my life."

"I trust you, too."

We sat there for hours, embraced, loved, safe in each other's arms. I must be the luckiest girl in the world to have a man so wonderful all for myself. I may hate slavery, but I have to give it some credit; it was that very thing that introduced us to each other. Still, I couldn't help but wonder how he got that way. Was he born a slave? Sold? Kidnapped? The possibilities were endless.

"How come you're a slave, Damon?" I asked, breaking the silence. I felt comfortable enough to pop a question like that, seemingly out of nowhere, sure he wouldn't mind my slight attempt at prying.

"I was born one," he said.

I could see it was making him uneasy to talk about things like that and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You don't have to say anything you're not comfortable with."

"No, it's okay," Damon assured me. "My mother was a slave to this wealthy man by the name of Giuseppe Salvatore. He was cruel, merciless, abusive. He raped her countless of times, producing two children: my brother and me. He treated us poorly, said allowing us to bear his last name was enough mercy on his part. When he felt we were old enough, he sold us. He practically ripped us out of our mothers' arms. I will never forget her screams of terror, begging him to let her hold us just one more time… Instead he whipped her before our very eyes. It was the last time I've seen her."

"Damon," I whispered, my heart aching for him. I couldn't even imagine what he must have been going through, hell, it probably hurt to even think about it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"I'm over it now. I just wish I had time to say proper goodbye."

I kissed his cheek, offering at least a little bit of comfort. He wasn't alone in this; he'll never be alone again. I will always stay by his side, keep him safe from harm, comfort him when needed. In desperate need to change the subject, I said: "I wanted to dance with you yesterday."

He looked at me, a grin creeping onto his lips, and stood up, offering me his hand. "Let's dance, then."

"Seriously?" I laughed, which only provoked his grin to widen.

"Yeah, come on."

"But there's no music," I pointed out.

Damon shrugged. "We can make our own," he added, leaning over to me, purring it into my ear.

I took his hand and allowed him to put his arm around me. He was the leader here, moving my body alongside his like a puppet, swinging our hips, twirling me around. I was wrong thinking he's a good dancer; he's the best of the best, a god on the dancefloor, his every move oozing sex appeal. I couldn't get enough of him. His love was my drug, an addiction I didn't want to cure.

I was already beginning to suffer withdrawal symptoms when he suddenly pulled me close in one swift move and kissed me. It wasn't gentle, yet at the very same time it was, and it frustrated me to no end that a mere man could do this to me without even trying.

In the heat of the moment I pushed him against the wall and started ripping at his shirt, clawing at it like an animal. He panted, hard, pulling off my own shirt. We got rid of the rest of our clothing rather quickly, lost in each other, lost in passion that consumed us, wild and unpredictable.

"Are you sure?" he asked and I just nodded, leading him to the nearest couch, throwing us both down in one swift, sharp move.

He pressed his lips to my chest, a kiss so hungry I felt like going insane, right between my bare breasts. His tongue, at the same time as fiery as the hottest flame and icy cold, slithered over my skin, softly, gently, its every movement sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. I let out a moan, trembling under his touch, under his long, elegant fingers that danced alongside mine, crashed against them, caressed them.

It felt like a rollercoaster of passion. Damon, his movements, his entire body… Everything was unpredictable, every second something new, something I wasn't prepared for that, despite the strangeness, soothed me in a weird, slightly disturbing way.

His entire being was almost completely unfamiliar and the harder he kissed me, the more I discovered him, uncovered secrets that slowly found their way to the surface, almost as dark as his past. Despite being almost cold, his touch was soft, warm, comforting, a complete opposite to his usual rebellious, arrogant attitude.

It was as though no one but him could understand me. He was the only one who knew everything about me and was willing to guide me through every step, every process of this passion I still knew almost nothing about. The whole world held me back. He was the only one who pushed me to go further, made me try harder, the only one who dared to make me question my beliefs and knew the answers to all my questions.

"I love you," he whispered, crashing his lips into mine with incredible force. It was a kiss full of fiery desire, hot, hungry, irresistible, everything I could ever wish for. His dark mess of hair fell over my eyes and I took a moment to absorb its scent; it smelled like forest, fresh wilderness, the wind that blew through it every single day.

"I love you, too," I purred back.

He raised his head, locking his eyes with mine, observing me. His, baby blue and gorgeous, seemed to glow in the dim light, reflecting the beauty of this incredible moment, making me yearn for him, for his kisses, for his body harder.

"Don't stop," I begged, trembling with desire, craving his touch. "I want you."

_I need you._

I brought his fingers to my lips and pressed small, tender kisses to them, one by one, their cold curse broken by my warmth. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe I was taking advantage of someone who felt compelled to say yes due to me having an unfair advantage by being his owner, his master he had no choice but please.

One look at Damon snapped me out of it. He wanted this was much as I did, maybe even more, his body aching for my touches just like mine ached for his.

I knew a part of him still hated me for being his owner, hated his stupid slave status, hated that his freedom was taken away from him without his permission. And I hated it too. Still, I couldn't help but want him all for myself. I couldn't help thinking that he being my slave made all of this even hotter, more desirable. Whoever said hate sex was great couldn't have been more right.

It was like a masochism tango, and I was the irredeemable masochist. He was, too, in a way. We _both_ were.

I completely lost it as he thrust into me, my thoughts long gone, replaced by pleasure only he could provide. God, was he an incredible lover! No one ever made me feel this way. I've never met someone who can so easily push my buttons and make me do bad things I never even dreamed of doing this attractive, this fucking delicious and tempting.

Damon Salvatore was pure, untamable magic.

And he was all mine.

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><p><strong>Remember, folks: reviews = happy author = faster update.<strong>


	8. Crazy In Love

**Thanks for the feedback!**

**This chapter is titled after Beyoncé's song, Crazy In Love. Listen to it (the Fifty Shades version), it fits the chapter's mood.**

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><p><em>I look and stare so deep in your eyes<em>

_I touch on you more and more every time_

_When you leave I'm begging you not to go_

_Call your name two or three times in a row_

_~ Crazy In Love by Beyoncé_

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><p><strong>~ Crazy In Love ~<strong>

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><p>I wasn't usually fond of Sunday mornings. It meant waking up way too early and spending the whole goddamn day preparing for some stupid test or quiz that would surely ensue on Monday because teachers were cruel like that, even my favorite ones.<p>

But this Sunday morning was special. I woke up in the arms of the man I loved with a smile on my face, no traces of usual worry and anxiety. I've never felt so safe before, so protected, so cherished and cared for. No one ever gave me such a rush of emotions; Damon was truly one of a kind, an individual alike no one else.

I observed him, smiling at the sight. He had the face of an angel, so pretty and kind, hiding such pain no person should ever be allowed to endure. I had this burning urge to push everything out of my way and lunge myself at him, tear him apart, use him until he bleeds. I squeezed his hand at the thought, images in my head becoming more intense by the minute, pictures of us in various disturbing and so, so wrong poses taking over my mind. _Breathe, Elena. He's not going anywhere. You have the whole day for yourselves._

"Thinking about me, aren't you?" he suddenly asked and I twitched, realizing I've been staring. He had a big smile on his face, a smile like no other, pure heavenly perfection.

"I need a shower," I said, prompting him to grin. He gripped me around the waist as I attempted to get up and pulled me back to him, brushing his strong, manly chest against mine. I held back a breath, my heart skipping a beat. The way he looked at me was so tempting, so damn arousing. If I didn't get some air soon, I was afraid I was going to lose control.

"And _I_ need you," Damon purred, his voice seductive, tempting me to do the worst of the bad things.

My eyes darted over to his lips and I felt my blood boil, heat engulfing me, swallowing me. My body acted on its own, pressing against him, kissing him, devouring him. My mind was gone, there was only instinct, a primal beast that slept inside of me awakened, desiring passion, adventure, danger only he could offer.

It took all of my remaining strength to back away. Damon stared at me, disappointed, but quickly shrugged it off with a smirk on his face, letting me know without having to utter a single word that the offer of the best sex I could ever have still stands.

"Join me," I said.

He took my hand and I led him to the bathroom. I turned the shower on and let him go in first, his grip on my hand tight, pulling me closer under the warm, comforting water falling over our heads. Under any other circumstances I'd find it uncomfortable to be around him naked, but now it felt like the most normal and natural thing in the world.

I gently laid my palm over his chest. Wounds were still there, healing but still painful, red and sore. He was covered in them, his chest and back a mess of dark red, barely healed lines placed on top of countless scars. He looked at me, observed me for a while before turning away in what appeared to be shame. Damon never had any trouble being almost fully naked with me. He enjoyed teasing me with his perfect body, tempting me, loved pushing me over the edge with his suggestive comments and double entendres.

This wasn't like him.

"Hey," I tried, lightly touching his shoulder. "Don't do that."

Damon slowly turned back to me, on his face a distressed look, his puppy dog eyes the saddest I've ever seen of them. He resembled a hurt, injured child and I just wanted to hold him and shower him with kisses and love, show him how appreciated and loved he is.

"I don't mind," I assured him, pointing to the cuts that glistened under the fluorescent bathroom light. I touched one of them again and he flinched, suddenly scared. "Does it hurt?"

He shook his head, looking dangerously close to tears. "I don't want you to see me like this, Elena."

"It doesn't matter," I said. That instinct I thought was dormant kicked in again, and it took all my self-control not to fall apart, not to cry at his display of weakness. I should have taken him to a doctor – a real one, not someone as cruel and vicious as my father. I should have bought bandages and cleaned his wounds properly, taken care of him the right way, like he deserved. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that without your permission."

"It's okay," Damon said. He stepped closer to me and put my hand over one of the injuries, pushing it against it almost to the point of ripping his skin apart and letting blood gush out all over again. "And no. It doesn't hurt."

He pinned me against the wall, our bodies dripping wet, water getting colder over our heads. I let out a pleasured sigh; it liked it when he was being so dominant. His mouth crashed against mine and I gave in, letting everything go, giving myself over to him, to his mercy, letting him do as he pleased with my body that now belonged to him and him only.

"I want you," I moaned.

I could practically hear Damon smirk. He dove for my neck, sucking on my skin, brushing his sharp teeth against it. I felt tiny drops of blood fall down my shoulder, hot against my cold skin, and just closed my eyes, delirious and euphoric. He was like a vampire, a leech sucking the life out of me, at the same time providing me with ecstasy I found myself instantly addicted to, immense pleasure I wanted to drown myself in.

"Don't stop" were the last words I managed to whisper before euphoria completely took me over, and everything that wasn't Damon disappeared into nothingness.

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><p>It felt awkward sleeping with Damon that night. We were back in my parents' house as I had school tomorrow, thought I wished more than anything that I could stay with him in the lake house forever. Waking up, I found our legs tangled in a tight knot, fingers intertwined, lips brushing against one another. I could see that he wanted sex as much as I did, but I feared my parents would hear us.<p>

I wasn't sure what their reaction would be like. Slaves were often used for sex, so I guess they wouldn't have much of a problem with that, but if they found out we were dating, I knew it wouldn't end well. I wanted to tell them one day, just not now. It was still too soon. I just wanted to enjoy our little secret for a little bit longer without having to worry about someone trying to break us up and hurt him all over again in all the wrong places and all the wrong ways.

Which is exactly what Miranda and Grayson Gilbert would try to do, I was sure of it.

There was a terrible-looking bruise on my neck from yesterday and I silently cursed Damon for getting so into it. Did he really have to bite me? Was simply sucking not enough? Still, I couldn't hide my joy over it as I observed it in the mirror. It was red and blue and green all combined, so disgusting and yet so beautiful, a reminder of our wild, out-of-control passion.

I thought for a while what to do with it before finally deciding not to hide it. I had nothing to be ashamed of and I will wear it with pride. And if anyone complains… Well, screw them. They're not the ones having sex with Damon. _Thankfully,_ I thought with a giggle.

"What's so funny?" Damon asked, sneaking behind me.

"Nothing," I replied. He leant for a kiss and kept going at it, ignoring my silent protests, knowing I wanted it to last as much as he did. "I have school."

"So?" he asked, the look in his eyes intense, daring me to resist.

"We can't do this now. My parents could hear us," I pointed out. I wasn't sure if they left for work already. For all I knew, they could be downstairs enjoying their morning coffee and listening in on our little love game. You can never be too careful in the Gilbert household. "You don't want that, do you?"

"What I want is to rip off all your clothes, throw you back in our bed, and never let you leave," he said.

_So do it,_ I wanted to reply, but instead, much to both our disappointments, I said: "Later, Damon."

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><p>"Oh, my god!"<p>

I cringed at the sound of Caroline's shrill, whiny voice, waving goodbye to Damon, who drove off into distance. Bonnie, as usual, tagged along, looking none too happy to be in our unusually perky friend's company.

"Were you bitten by a vampire?" Caroline asked, pointing to my neck. Bonnie looked over, too, and her eyes widened in shock at the sight. I should have expected that and probably thought of an excuse.

If only I have been bitten by a vampire. It would be a hell lot easier to explain.

"What happened?" Bonnie demanded in her no-nonsense tone. She wanted the truth and she wanted it now.

"Okay, but you guys have to promise not to say a word to anyone," I said, waving my forefinger to prove my point. "I mean it."

"Scout's honor," Caroline said a bit too quickly for my liking.

"It was Damon," I admitted.

My friends' jaws dropped and for a moment there was this uncomfortable silence I couldn't hate more. Then Bonnie, looking both terrified and disgusted, said: "He attacked you?"

"No! We… Well, we kinda attacked each other," I said.

"Oh, my god! Elena, you're messing around with your slave boy, aren't you?" Caroline stated.

"No!" I fired. What did she take me for? An abuser? A cold-hearted, emotionless bitch? "He's not my… I'm not… We're dating!" The sooner I spilled it out, the better.

"You're what?" Bonnie demanded.

"YOU'RE DATING YOUR SLAVE?!" Caroline exclaimed and I quickly clasped a hand over her mouth.

"Why don't you say it a bit louder? I don't think Houston heard you."

"Sorry, I'm just surprised."

"You guys don't mind, do you?" I asked, hopeful. Out of all people, they seemed most reliable. Their own slaves were treated well and I felt like I could trust them with this secret.

"No, of course not," Bonnie assured me.

"We're happy for you!" Caroline added, chipper as usual.

"It is completely consensual, right? You're not-" Bonnie started and I defensively raised my hands.

"No! I wouldn't! He loves me and I love him. It's… It's complicated."

I expected some more questions after this declaration, but they just pulled me into a hug and started muttering encouraging words. I was starting to feel better already; it felt good to tell a secret like this to someone worthy of trust.

And there was no one more worthy of it than them, my best, closest, most loving friends.

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><p>I don't know why I was dragging him by the collar of his shirt down the hall, I just knew that I was and I liked it. He didn't seem to mind, though. He was smirking the entire time, enjoying the experience. I slammed him against one of the lockers and got into his face, my hands placed firmly on his chest, keeping him in place.<p>

"You still want me?" I inquired, daring him for a change.

"More than anything," Damon replied. He reached for my cheek and I slapped his hand away, leaving a red mark on his tender skin. He didn't even flinch; he just kept looking at me, interested in this violent part of me, yearning for my dominance. "Break me, Elena. I _want_ you to break me; I want you rip me apart, inch by inch, make me bleed all over; I want you to snap me like a twig without giving it a second thought. Use that control you have over me! You know you want to!"

"Shut up!" I ordered, grabbing him by the throat. I pushed him into the nearest classroom and locked the door behind us before jumping him, rubbing my body against his like he was nothing.

We tore off each other's clothes, embracing in a classroom full of empty chairs, thinking ourselves lucky we chose one fully empty. My fingers enveloped his throat, giving a squeeze just firm enough to make him squirm.

"You like this, don't you?"

Damon took a short breath, my grip suffocating him, and finally nodded, genuinely entertained by my sudden display of violence. I threw him to a nearby desk and he hissed in pain, but quickly recovered, reaching for my arms. He pulled me close and kissed me, pressing my wrists, prisoning them in his incredibly powerful and forceful grip.

"A lot," he admitted in-between kisses.

He finally let go of me and I fell down, suddenly losing my balance. He was quickly on top of me, holding me down, baring his teeth like a predator would to a prey.

"Do it, Damon," I dared. "Take me."

"Elena?" I heard a strange, yet so familiar voice calling for me, but shook it off. Whoever it was, I'll deal with them later. Right now Damon was all that mattered, our moment of raw passion the only thing I held dear. Everything and everyone else could go straight to hell for all I cared.

"Take me," I repeated.

Damon hissed; it was a sound so animalistic and primal that for a moment I shook in fear. He bit into my neck, drawing blood, sucking at it, and I allowed a moan, a slight display of pleasure, escape my lips.

"Elena? You still with us?"

"What?" I looked up at Alaric Saltzman, my History teacher, who stared puzzled at me, and offered up an apologetic shrug. I was still shaken, the wild, crazy fantasy dispersing into nothingness. "Sorry. It won't happen again."

"Thinking about your slave boy, aren't you?" Rebekah teased and I tensed at the mention of him. Just what did she know? She smirked, satisfied to get such a reaction out of me and looked around the classroom. "Haven't you heard? Our dear Elena here is fucking her slave. Now only is he her toy; he's her boyfriend now, too."

Everyone gasped before erupting into fits of laughter, pointing fingers at me, chanting slurs and insults. I looked over to Bonnie and Caroline, suspicious and angry, and they both shook their heads at me, their eyes telling me their denial was genuine. Tears welled up in my eyes and suddenly I couldn't breathe, my lungs burning as though I was drowning.

"Slave whore! Slave whore!" my classmates chanted.

"What is that on your neck, Elena? It wouldn't happen to be a love bite, would it? Boy, you've got yourself a wild one. Just out of curiosity: was it your order he was following when he left that lovely hickey, or did he do it all by himself?" Rebekah provoked, prompting everyone to laugh harder.

"Slave whore!"

Not able to take this anymore, I ran out of the classroom. Tears spilled, leaving wet trails down my burning cheeks, staining my shirt. I should have known this would happen. Word travels around fast at Mystic Falls High. I should have known my secret would stay a secret for long. The truth was bound to be discovered sooner or later.

I would have preferred later. I wasn't ashamed of Damon by any means; I could never, ever be ashamed of what he and I have because it's the most beautiful, real thing I've ever experienced. No, it was this community we lived in that gave the term secondhand embarrassment a whole different meaning. Just the knowledge of these people's opinions gave me the shivers, and not the good kind I sometimes get when I'm with Damon.

"Elena." I felt someone's hand on my shoulder and turned around, facing Ric (as he liked to be called), his expression that of worry. He was one of my favorite teachers, always ready to offer helpful advice and providing much needed comfort to those in need. He's gotten Jeremy out of countless troubles he's gotten himself into, and turned a blind eye to many homeworks and projects I've forgotten all about.

"Leave me alone, Ric," I sniffled.

He pulled me into a hug and I buried my face into his shirt, weeping my heart out, letting it all out because heaven knows I both wanted _and_ needed to.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Elena," he said. "Don't let them get to you."

"No one understands," I said through tears.

Ric sighed. "Listen, I know what you're going through. I used to date a slave once, too."

I looked up at him, eyes wide. "You did?"

"Yeah. It didn't work out, but little time we spend together was wonderful. Her being a slave meant nothing. We were so much in love, her status didn't matter. Whoever this guy is, you obviously care for him," he stated.

"I love him, Ric," I admitted.

The teacher gave me a light pat on the shoulder and shot a warm, friendly smile in my direction. "Then who cares what other people say? They're all a bunch of morons, anyway. Trust me, I'd know. I grade their tests. Never have I seen worse spelling and grammar. And that guy in the back row? You know, the loud one? He thinks Winston Churchill was our president."

I laughed a little, which was, by the looks of things, exactly the reaction he was going for.

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><p>I could barely wait for Damon to come pick me up. When he finally showed up I waved at him to come over and he shot me a puzzled glance, then shrugged and exited the car. Caroline and Bonnie stood by me. I could practically see giant question marks hanging over their heads as Damon approached us, smirking as usual, doing his sexy eyebrow thing as he looked my friends up and down.<p>

"Damon, I'd like you to meet my friends Bonnie and Caroline," I said. "Guys, this is Damon. My boyfriend."

They shook hands, all surprised by this turn of events. Damon checked them both out and I felt a tiny streak of jealousy, but decided to ignore it. This was just so Damon-like, to get me all worked up over nothing just because he's Damon and he likes to do that to me to get a reaction out of me.

"Nice biting skills," Caroline commented, prompting Bonnie to elbow her. "What? I'm just saying."

"Why, thank you, Barbie," Damon said, wiggling his eyebrows. I loudly cleared my throat to get their attention and took Damon by the hand, looking him directly in the eyes.

"I called you here because I wanted everyone to know something," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

I could see Rebekah and the other bullies observing us in the background and smiled. If they reacted the way they did when they heard of my relationship, I couldn't help but wonder just how much it will steer them all up when I did as I planned.

"I'm not sorry that I met you. I'm not sorry that knowing you has made me question everything; that I tried so hard to push you away because it only brought me closer to you. Even when I was at my worst you managed to bring out the best of me, see right through me. I've made all the wrong choices, and yet you forgave me everything and gave me another chance because you knew, deep down, that you and I are meant to be. And I regret nothing because all the bad made this good happen and for that I'll always be grateful, and if given the chance, I'd do it all over again because it was all worth it. I love you, Damon Salvatore. I love you!"

With that I pulled him in for a kiss so powerful it felt like the world around us stopped spinning. Everything moved in slow motion, the kiss seemed to last forever, so loving and needed. I could hear Bonnie and Caroline's claps and screams of joy, the bullies' annoying whistles, and Rebekah's angry huff.

Damon devoured me, love oozing out his every pore and mixing with mine, creating a dangerous combo of devotion, pulling us together like magnets, so electric and wonderful. I wanted to stay this way forever. Fuck everyone's judgment. It was us that mattered; our feelings, our happiness.

I was crazy in love with him and it was killing me. But it was fucking worth it.

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><p><strong>Seems like Elena's fallen hard. See (read?) you next time!<strong>


	9. Broken

**A big thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy this chapter.**

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><p><em>I lay dying and I'm pouring<em>

_Crimson regret and betrayal_

_I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming_

_Am I too lost to be saved?_

_Am I too lost?_

_~ Tourniquet by Evanescence_

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><p><strong>~ Broken ~<strong>

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><p>I was never a big fan of school, but these last couple weeks have been unbearable. It's gotten to the point that I seriously considered going all Jeremy-mode and skipping half my classes. The only thing that kept me coming back was the simple fact that this was my final year; just a few more dreadful months and I'm off to college or wherever I wish to go for good.<p>

Caroline, Bonnie, and Matt were the only ones who had my back, the only ones who didn't dare think, much less say a bad word about Damon and me. Even people who used to only tolerate me now openly made fun of me, in and out of class.

Tyler Lockwood walked past me and offered a quick hello, which I reciprocated. It was strange to see him so normal about it. After all, mama and papa Lockwood were known to be cruel to their slaves, very vicious and terribly abusive. It was a fact so well known that even some other slave owners thought twice before heading into business with them. My dear parents, of course, favored their methods of maintaining order and discipline.

It didn't help that Richard Lockwood happened to be the ex-mayor of the town. He lost latest elections to Bonnie's dad by only one vote and was still pissed about it, no doubt taking his anger out on the poor people he happened to own.

Guess Tyler had some good in him on his own.

"Hello there, Elena," Rebekah greeted, on her face a mocking grin. "You're awfully late today. Slave-boy kept you busy?"

"Shut up!" I barked. I was sick and tired of her bullshit; of everyone's bullshit, actually. Was it so hard for them to leave me alone? I've done nothing to no one, just kept to myself as usual and stayed out of any trouble. Why couldn't they leave me be? Why did they have to be so cruel?

"Touched the nerve, haven't it?" she teased.

"What is your problem, Rebekah? Why do you hate me so much?" I demanded. I didn't really mind those terrible rumors and insults. They were nothing but empty, meaningless words that happened to hurt. That's all. What I did mind was open hostility such as this one, hostility I found no reason for. I've done nothing to her, nothing to deserve such treatment. "What did I ever do to you?"

"You exist, Elena," Rebekah simply replied and turned away, blowing me a mocking kiss as she walked off, her high heels clicking with each step she took.

Great. At least when Damon hated me (or thought he hated me), he had a good reason.

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><p>I closed my eyes, giving myself over to this divine sensation, diving into a sea of wild, dangerous passion. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife, dancing around Damon and me, surging through our bodies like a sudden gust of wind.<p>

I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his neck, my eyes glued to his lips that radiated with magnetic, almost supernatural attraction. There are no words to describe how much I wanted him, needed him inside of me; he was a part of me, I didn't know where he ended and I began.

Our bodies' warmth was brash, unusually intoxicating and raw, wooing us, gluing us together. Damon took my hand, his skin hot to the touch, and I knew there was no going back from this, not anymore. I pressed his lips against his, forcefully and decisively, and for a moment I thought I'd injured him, but he didn't even flinch; he just kept on going, finishing what I started.

I was in complete ecstasy, unaware of my surroundings, unaware of this magic that was our love. It was lust that pulled the strings now, playing us, controlling us, and the worst of all, neither of us dared to break this spell because we knew, even in these moments of weakness, that this was the best thing that could have happened to us.

We wanted, needed it, and craved it more than anything.

I ran my fingers over his chest, feeling those smooth scars that for some reason made him all the more desirable, and he shivered under my touch before diving into another kiss, melting into me, giving himself over to my mercy.

I took a moment to breathe in his scent, that attractive mixture of nature and cologne he always dosed himself with burning my nostrils, fueling my addiction, taking me over. Something inside me snapped; a firework of emotions went off, erupting in the form of a moan.

"I love you," I breathed out, for some reason compelled to say those very words, otherwise I'd go insane. I felt like he had to know, had to hear me say it. I needed to ensure him he was loved and wanted, that his every gasp, every breath, every touch made me all the more sure that he needed me as much as I needed him.

"I love you, too," Damon replied, his lips grazing mine once again. It felt like the most right thing in the world, something so beautiful and yet so dangerous, something we were both addicted to and couldn't help but give into. It was an addiction neither of us wanted to get rid of.

"We shouldn't," I said, my tone giving away insecurity. I wasn't certain of my own words, yet I still gathered all my strength to spit them out. "This is bad."

"It's very, very bad," he agreed as he kept on kissing me.

Despite how hard we tried to resist sex whilst my parents were at home, we slipped at times, not able to stop. It was an addiction like any other; the more you take, the more you want and need. I knew it was wrong, but fear of them walking in quickly dissipated as Damon descended to my breasts, suckling on a nipple and sending every single nerve in my body into overdrive.

If it was bad, why did it feel so fucking good? Why did I want more? Why did he keep on kissing me so hard, holding me so tight as though the thought of me being apart from him scared him to no end? Why was he being so possessive if he wanted to stop, why did he lead if he wanted it to end, why…?

There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers. To be honest, I didn't want answers. This was a pleasant, wonderful experience, so charming and magical, and I wanted it to last. And judging by the look on his face, he wanted that, too.

"Very bad," I repeated after him.

My emotions were raging, spiraling out of control, and in the heat of a moment I dug my nails deep into the his skin on his back, pulling hard, leaving red, bloody marks. I felt his blood under my fingers and he moaned in pleasure, breathing deep, falling down on top of me, his chest leaning against mine.

I found myself amidst of a storm, a hot, fiery river both elegant and destructive coursing through my veins.

I felt him inside of me and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I let my arms fell down alongside my body, allowing him to lead, to do as he pleased. And boy, did he do it oh, so well. He was a god in every sense of the word, literal and metaphorical, a heavenly creature trapped in human form.

I knew it now; he will either be the best of worst that's happened to me. And I was okay with that. As long as he was with me, holding me, nurturing me, touching me with grace only he knew how to harness, I was okay with everything.

If only I'd known this would all be ruined in a second, I would have tried to enjoy it more (if that was even possible), push him to his limits until he begged me to stop.

The door opened, revealing my parents' shocked faces, their jaws literally dropping all the way to the floor. I quickly wrapped the sheet around me, my cheeks burning with embarrassment, looking from my mom and dad to Damon, who couldn't look more content if he tried.

It was as though he wanted to get caught.

"It's not what it looks like," he said and for just a moment I felt a surge of relief. But this is Damon we're talking about. I should have known it wouldn't be so easy. It never is with him. "You may think we're making out, but we're actually having sex."

"Damon!" I hissed, my cheeks' redness deepening, the sudden wave of color making my head resemble a bomb ready to explode. I turned to my parents and waved my hand at them, gesturing for them to get lost.

"We need to talk," my dad said in his usually stern, no-nonsense tone of voice that left no place for argument (though I did argue countless of times).

I rolled my eyes and sighed. This was not going to end well, I just knew it. But they had to find out, one way or another. It was bound to happen. I just wish it was any other time, like, for example, when I wasn't having the best sex of my life. Actually, when I wasn't having sex, period; sex with Damon could never be anything else but the best. "Can I get dressed first?"

They mumbled something resembling a forced, fakest apology I've ever heard and disappeared.

I rushed to the closet whilst Damon laughed in the background, commenting: "Talk about ruining the moment."

Yeah, talk about it. It shall be a _fun_ conversation.

* * *

><p>"Didn't you ever hear of knocking?" I asked as I descended down the stairs.<p>

My parents looked at me.

"We heard… _noises_ and thought he was hurting you," mom explained.

How lovely. Out of all times, now they're playing the worried parents card? Pathetic!

"He wouldn't do that," I said.

Dad let out an angry huff. "Considering what you let him get away with, I wouldn't be so sure."

"Dad!" I barked.

Mom raised her hands in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Okay, let's all just calm down." She looked at me and for a moment I remembered that caring, loving mother I had as a little girl, but it became clear very quickly that it was all just a mask. That person has been gone for many years; I wasn't sure she even truly existed. "We're not mad at you, sweetheart. We understand."

"We've all done it," dad admitted, his tone now normal, almost fatherly.

"You… have?"

_Why is it so hard for me to believe that?_

"Yes," mom assured me. "Casual sex with a slave is completely normal. Everyone has needs. As long as he knows his place, there is no harm done."

_That's why._

"No, that's not… I'm not using him!" I said. "I love him!"

This prompted them to glare at me; if looks could kill, I'd drop dead on this very spot, this very instant. I saw tears in my mom's eyes, and dad's face changed at least thirty shades of color (I didn't know red had so many shades until now) in these past few seconds, full of rage preparing to burst like a trembling volcano.

"We heard rumors," mom whispered. "We should have known…"

"He's not good for you, Elena," dad said through gritted teeth.

"Why? Because he's a slave?" I challenged and he jumped toward me in a threatening manner, making me flinch. My dad was a lot of things, but he's never hit me. Not once, not even when I threw tantrums as a child. And let me tell you, I was a wild, uncontrollable child, yet he was always so perfectly in control, partly by himself and partly by my mother's influence.

I wasn't so sure he'd have the same level of self-control now, and mom didn't seem to want to get involved, not when it came to me _pushing the limits,_ as they surely thought I was doing, by daring to love a boy who had the misfortune to be born a slave and was nothing but kind to me even when I put him through literal hell.

None of it mattered to them. They hated him and there was no changing their minds.

"I don't see why you _love_ him," he growled angrily.

"It's 'cause you haven't had sex with me," Damon said, appearing behind me, smirking as usual.

"I don't remember inviting you to join this conversation, _slave,"_ my father spat.

"Let me handle this, Damon," I said, suddenly scared. My parents were no strangers to resorting to violence when it came to disobedient slaves, especially when one of said disobedient slaves happened to be Damon. I've seen the destruction their hands had caused him and wanted him nowhere near them, especially when they were as angry as they were right now. "Please. Go back to our room. I'll be right back, I promise."

"Do you even hear yourself? You're sweet-talking a slave. A goddamn slave, Elena!" dad shouted, raising his hand as if it slap me.

Damon stepped up before me protectively, pushing me back, shielding me from possible harm. I lightly touched his forearm, hoping with all my heart everything would be okay, that he'd get out of this unharmed. I should have known better. There is no _okay_ when it comes to my dad and his superiority complex.

"No slave is allowed to hold my daughter back like that," my dad continued, his palm connecting with Damon's tender cheek, leaving a red, swelling mark. "Don't you see, Elena? He'll only bring you down along with him, ruin the life you've just now started living! I cannot let that happen."

"Damon!" I exclaimed, ignoring my father, instead tending to my boyfriend's cheek much to my parents' disgust.

I caressed the pulsating mark and Damon quivered at the touch, his hand covering mine, his beautiful eyes staring deep into my soul and telling me, no, _ordering_ me to stay out of this and let him take it. Because he's used to it and he doesn't want me to get hurt. He'd rather get himself hurt than risk me being harmed. If that's not a wonderful, caring boyfriend deserving of my love, I don't know what is.

"Stay back," Damon told me, gently pushing me behind the protective wall that was his strong yet so delicate body, destroyed and repaired so many times but still standing strong for me, because he loved me and was willing to protect me by all costs, even if it meant getting hurt in the process.

"Damon, please," I tried, but his hands still held me in place, hidden in the safety behind his back.

"Stay back, Elena," he said a bit more sternly.

I was about to protest when my mom said, completely ignoring our little interaction: "We just want what's best for you."

"This _is_ what's best for me!" I pointed out, taking Damon's hand, but staying where he told me to after meeting with her narrowed, threatening eyes that I didn't want to get on the bad side of. As much as I thought this was a bad idea, Damon was right. I was safe there because it was him who protected me. I was willing to trust him with my life. Out of all people, he's the only one who never caused me any harm out of malice, the only one who loved me unconditionally despite my many flaws and choose me even after everything I've done. He was my one true love and I was his, nothing could ever change that: not my parents, not their violence, not their wicked words masked by fake kindness. _"He _is best for me. I am not giving up on him just because you and everyone else in this fucking messed up world says it's wrong, because something this real and true couldn't possibly be wrong! I love him! You can't take that away from me!"

"We'll see about that," dad threatened, then glanced to my mom. "Miranda."

She nodded and with that they both stepped toward us, on their faces decisive, dangerous looks I didn't like one bit. What is going on? Was this all just a trap?

Dad reached for Damon, grabbing him by the hair, and pushed him to the floor, forcing him to kneel. Damon hissed, surprised by the sudden attack, and I was quick to jump to his defense.

"Damon!"

Someone's arms wrapped around me from behind and I realized it was my mom gripping me tight, holding me back from the scene unfolding before my very eyes.

"No! Let go of me!" I screeched, struggling to break free, but her hold on me was too tight. My dad pulled out a whip and struck at Damon's back, again and again, back and forth, ripping fabric of his shirt apart with each and every swing. There was blood everywhere, its metallic odor staining the air. "Leave him alone!"

"This is how you do it," dad said, ignoring my protests. He cracked the whip again, striking Damon one final time before turning him over and aiming for his chest. "This is how you discipline a slave."

"NO!"

"Is that the best you got?" Damon dared, forcing a smirk upon his gorgeous face that I knew would soon be tarnished. Even in times of distress he couldn't resist being the bad boy I knew and loved. "Gotta say I'm disappointed."

"You impudent boy!" dad growled.

Damon hissed and winced in pain as lashes struck him, the blows growing more frequent and harsher by the second, pain getting harder to endure. Tears spilt from my eyes and I broke down into a sobbing mess, begging for my dad to stop, but my pleas seemed to anger him further, seemed to send him into a raging outburst he took out on Damon's fragile, injured body.

"Damon!" I called out, my view obstructed by tears. I promised him they wouldn't hurt him anymore, promised to protect him, and now I was standing aside and watching it happen. If only I wasn't so weak, maybe I could have defended him. "Stop it!"

Damon turned to look at me, hurt written all over his face, his eyes full of tears he tried his hardest to hold back, only for the whip to snap over his face, creating a large gash over his cheek. Still, he didn't show a sign of anguish I just knew was hiding inside; he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing they've managed to break him.

"Still not impressed," he commented nonchalantly as blood gushed out his newest injury. His voice was weak, revealing pain hidden underneath, but he still stood strong, proud, never, not for one second, thinking of giving up because he was too damn thick-headed for his own good and right now I couldn't love him more for being that way.

"You monsters!" I accused and my mom whispered something that was supposed to be comfort in my ear.

Dad said nothing, unaffected by my words; he just kept on going at Damon with that wretched whip, slashing at every square inch of his body, lashing every surface of skin, both concealed and exposed, as an act of revenge for my boyfriend daring to stand up to him and talk as if he was nothing, as if those painful wounds were nothing.

Finally Damon gave in and let out a loud cry. His clothes were torn to pieces, skin sore and bloody, cuts and gashes covering the entirety of him. He looked like something straight out of an explicit horror film, the sight of him gory, violated, and wronged in so many ways. A lone tear slid down his bloodied cheek, a final sign of defeat. He couldn't take it anymore; even he, ever so strong and confident, had his limits.

My father smirked in satisfaction. He whipped at Damon one final time and my boyfriend collapsed in a small pool of his blood. I never knew one person could produce so much blood and still be alive. In his case I didn't _want_ to know that. I didn't want him to go through it, not again, not after I promised he wouldn't have to.

"DAMON!" I screamed, squirming in my mother's arms, and she finally released me after receiving a confirming nod from dad.

I ran to Damon and knelt beside him, touching him the kindest, gentlest way I could to not cause him any unnecessary pain. He was like a corpse; pale, cold, with blood all around him, and for a moment I thought I lost him. I burst into a crying fit, my entire body shaking, a surge of emotions rushing and taking over. _This isn't happening. This can't be happening._

"Please, don't leave me," I begged. "I can't live without you. Please, stay here with me. I want you to stay. I need you, Damon. Don't go."

It was the smallest of movements that convinced me he was pretty much alive; barely, but as long as he was still here, nothing else mattered. From the corner of my eye I could see my parents gather up, and I heard them slam the door as they left the house. I sighed in relief, then turned my attention back to Damon.

He coughed up blood in an attempt to breathe and I put my arms around him, helping him lean against me, making him as comfortable as possible in my lap.

"You're going to be okay. You hear me? Everything's going to be fine," I promised, though neither of us could validate my words and that hurt more than anything.

"E…lena…" he rasped.

"Shh." I put my finger over his bloody lip, shushing him. "Don't talk." He needed to preserve the little strength he had and I was going to make sure he gets out of this alive and well. I reached for my cellphone and typed in the emergency number I knew by heart, hoping to all deities I could think of that help arrives in time.

"911, what is your emergency?" the robotic voice of a lady said; she was obviously bored of repeating that same sentence over and over again, and I could see she wanted to get this call over with as quickly as possible to get back to whatever the hell it was she was keeping herself busy with.

"My boyfriend, he's… He's hurt really bad," I sobbed.

This seemed to sober the lady up a bit. I heard her type something on her keyboard as she said: "Your address." I told her all info she needed and she begged me to stay on the line, suddenly interested in my emergency. "Okay, sweetness, I need you to calm down."

"I can't! I can't! I can't!" I exclaimed, my voice squeaky and shaky. "Make it stop! Please, just make it stop! I'm losing him! I can't lose him! I…"

"Take a deep breath, honey," the lady instructed in an almost motherly tone, the mere sound of her voice somehow soothing me. "Let's talk about this. Maybe you can help him until the ambulance arrives."

"No! I… There's blood everywhere. He's… There is nothing I can do!" Damon let out a short grunt and I pressed a small, tender kiss to his forehead, the only part of him not injured in any way. "Stay with me, Damon. Don't leave me like this. Please, don't."

"Damon? Is that his name?" I gave a confirmative answer which the lady on the phone seemed satisfied with. The she said in a gentle voice: "He will be okay, honey. The ambulance will arrive any minute now."

"I can't wait any longer!" I shouted in panic. I must have sounded like I've lost my mind, which wasn't that far from the truth. I was on the verge of insanity, Damon's small signs of life the only thing keeping me together and stopping me from breaking and crossing over to the dark side. If he's gone, I'm gone. It was that simple. I didn't want to become that dark me that I knew I would be if he was to leave me. No one wanted to meet _her,_ especially not them, those two, who made all this madness happen.

_She_ hated them even more than I did. The only difference is that _she_ gave no damn about the consequences and would be glad to get _her_ revenge.

I didn't want to be _her,_ but what would I have if I am to lose him? _She_ would be the only one I could turn to, the only one who could save me from this sorrow I was dreading would overcome me.

"Is there a way for you to stop the bleeding?"

"No, he's hurt all over," I cried, suddenly pulled back into reality in which _she_ was still dormant and he was still here, but barely, and that sole fact was enough to get those dark thoughts right back into my already darkened mind. "There's so much blood… Damon, please, don't close your eyes. Stay with me; help is on the way. You need to be here, okay? They can't help you if you're…"

_If you're dead._

"E… lena…" was all he managed to whisper. His eyes were half closed as he observed me, obviously trying hard to focus on my words, to make sense of what I was saying.

It was then that I heard familiar sirens. The 911 lady said her goodbyes to me, wishing us well before hanging up. I just kneeled there as paramedics barged in and ripped the broken mess that was Damon, my sweet, loving Damon, out of my arms, carefully laying him over a stretcher. Someone whose face I couldn't see helped me to my feet and I absent-mindedly followed them to their vehicle.

I sat by Damon's side for the whole ride to the hospital, holding his hand, whispering encouraging words I doubted he could understand into his ear. Rage was building up inside of me, eating at every positive emotion until nothing but disdain and contempt remained, reducing me to a shell of that perky and happy-go-lucky person that I used to be. Thoughts of my parents occupied my mind, their faces hanging before my tear-stained eyes.

After all this time they've finally managed to break him.

And now I am going to break them.

* * *

><p><strong>Looks like Elena's going dark. Can't wait to read your opinions.<strong>


	10. All Girls Want Bad Boys

**I would like to thank everyone for the support! You guys are simply amazing. Every review, every favorite, and every follow means a world to me. So thank you!**

**This chapter's theme song is Anytime by Kelly Clarkson. That song is so very Delena it almost hurts.**

* * *

><p><em>I look into your eyes and I feel it coming through<em>

_And I can't help but want you more than I want to_

_So, baby, take all of your fears and cast them all on me_

_'Cause all I ever wanted was just to make you see_

_That I could be the one to give you_

_All that you've been searching for_

_Just hold on to my love_

_~ Anytime by Kelly Clarkson_

* * *

><p><strong>~ All Girls Want Bad Boys ~<strong>

* * *

><p>Thankfully, the hospital wasn't loaded, so Damon was instantly admitted. Sitting in the waiting room seemed to last forever and I found myself suffocated by the smell. It was the usual reek of hospitals, death, drugs, one that made me sick to my stomach. Doctors and nurses passed by, chatting, all telling a different story, but none offered answers to the questions I kept asking everyone I deemed to be a possible all-knowing employee: "How is Damon? When can I see him?"<p>

It was when I saw Meredith Fell in the hallway that I allowed myself a small sigh of relaxation. She was one of the good doctors, the best one this poor excuse for a small town hospital had to offer. I have always admired her. After all, Ric wouldn't have dated her in the past if she was a bitch in disguise.

"Damon!" I exclaimed as soon as she approached me, jumping to my feel, finally freeing myself of that awfully uncomfortable, decades old waiting room chair.

Meredith put a hand on my shoulder, a small sign of reassurance, and said: "Don't worry. He's going to be fine."

"When can I see him?" I demanded a bit too harshly and instantly felt guilty. She was only trying to help; such behavior was completely uncalled for. I couldn't help being worried for him. He was my everything, all I had left in this terrible world, the only good thing in my miserable life. I would be lost without him. I had to see him for myself to make sure he was alright or I was going to go insane.

"Soon. They're bandaging him up as we speak," she explained, and I was grateful she ignored my rudeness. I guess all those years in this job taught her a thing or two about grieving and distressed family members and friends of the patients. "I have a question, Elena, and I need you to be honest with me. Is he a slave?"

"Why does it matter? You can't deny him treatment!" I fired and the doctor flinched, startled by my sudden defensive reaction.

"That's not what this is about," she quickly assured me. "He's covered in scars, Elena. I need to know what I'm dealing with here."

"He's mine!" For some reason I felt the need to make that clear. What was wrong with me? It's not like someone would steal him from me. Though you can never know with people in Mystic Falls. Slave stealing isn't exactly as uncommon as everyone thinks. "He… He was hurt in the past, but I've never seen him like this."

I couldn't help but wonder if what Katherine and her father did to him was like this; maybe worse, maybe not. Either way, he's lucky to be alive. I'd ask him if it didn't feel like such a bitchy thing to do.

"Is he allergic to any medication?"

"I-I don't know. I… I don't think so. Meredith?"

The doctor turned to me, looking at me in an almost motherly way. I could see now that she knew. It was written all over my face; this love, desire to protect him, the need to avenge his pain, it was all there. I was an open book and Meredith read me like a pro.

"It wasn't me," I said weakly. I needed her to know I would never hurt him, never allow myself to do something as horrid and monstrous as this to the one person I loved more than anything.

"I know," Meredith soothed, caressing my arm like a mother would a child in need of comfort. "We'll take care of him, Elena. He's going to be okay."

I collapsed into tears again and she said a quick goodbye, leaving me alone to my sorrow. I fell back into that terrible wooden chair and buried my head into my hands. My weeping eyes hurt, swollen and red, and my lips trembled, wetted by tears that brushed past them and fell down to my shirt which was still stained with blood.

Damon's blood, I realized. It was all over me: in my hair, my jeans, my skin. As it dried it turned into this dark shade of red, almost black, and I started scratching at my arms to peel it off, my sharp nails leaving painful marks.

_They did this to him._

My thoughts flew back to my parents, back to the two people I couldn't hate more if I tried. He was the light of my life and they almost took him from me. How can someone do such a thing and just walk away like nothing happened? They will pay for what they've done; oh, they will pay so, so much. They will regret the moment they first laid a hand on him.

_Revenge._

My shaking hands somehow found their way to my phone and I slowly typed in the number I knew by heart. Caroline's chirpy voice answered with a: "Hello," and for a moment I felt guilty for bothering her with something like this. But I had to tell someone, had to ask for help, and she was the only one who could provide it.

She and Damon met for a few times and while she wasn't too fond of his double entendres and snarky comments, I knew she wouldn't want for something like this to happen to him. Caroline is a good person. Surely she wouldn't hesitate to help a friend in need.

"Care, I need your help," I wept.

"What's wrong?" she questioned, her voice suddenly serious, sensing trouble.

After taking a deep breath, I told her everything from the start, mentioned all the little details and pieces I thought would be helpful. She listened to my every word without interruption, processing the story that from her point of view must have sounded too ridiculous to be true, and yet it couldn't be more real and it fucking hurt because every single word that came out of my mouth was the truth.

"I'll talk to my mom," Caroline finally promised.

"Thank you."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head even though I knew she couldn't see me. "I'll be okay. Just… Thank you so much, Caroline."

"Don't worry about it. That's what friends are for."

Yeah, I guess it is.

* * *

><p>Minutes passed, seeming more like hours, the torture of not knowing anything driving me crazy. I frowned at the familiar sound of clicking heels; Rebekah walked in in all her glory, looking as fashionable and expensive as always, on her face a look that seemed to show actual, genuine worry. I have never seen her like this. The Rebekah I knew was a ruthless, merciless bully. She didn't care.<p>

She hurt people and she enjoyed it.

"Not now, Rebekah," I snapped as she approached me, not in the mood for her bullshit.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in her famous British accent, for once with no traces of usual mocking and snide intentions in her tone of voice.

"I thought it'd be fun to hang around here for a change," I snarked. "The Grill's gotten kinda boring lately."

"Seriously, Elena," she said, taking a seat right next to me. Was that concern in her eyes? No, it couldn't be. Bullies didn't care about anyone but themselves; her being this nice to me could only mean she had some hidden intentions I really didn't want to know about nor participate in. She probably wanted to reach to me at my weakest and then humiliate me in front of everyone. God knows, she does that well.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I retorted.

"My brother Finn's being released today," she replied in a not entirely content manner. I heard some rumors recently about the oldest Mikaelson brother being hospitalized for appendix problems or something like that. Guess it was true.

"Good for him," I said, not interested in her family drama. I had enough of my own.

"Did you get into an accident?" Rebekah asked, pointing to my blood-stained clothes. "You're all bloody."

_Thank you, captain obvious._ "I don't want to talk about it."

"Listen, Elena." She laid her hand over mine and I looked her in the eye. What is it with her all of a sudden? It wasn't like her to be this… _normal_ and friendly. "I wanted to apologize."

"For what?" I asked. There was a long list of offences she should beg for forgiveness for on her knees. She had to be a little bit more specific.

"Being a complete and utter bitch to you."

This was new. It couldn't be honest, could it? Someone must have forced her into it. It was probably a bet of some sort. "I'm not interested in your games, Rebekah. Not _now,"_ I hissed. I just wanted to see Damon. Everyone else: Rebekah, my parents, all of them could go straight to hell for all I cared.

It was Damon that mattered.

"It's no game. I'm being honest here," Rebekah insisted. "The truth is, I have a lot of family issues. One of my brothers is an out of control maniac, the other one is an over-controlling ass, and as for my parents… It's a long, complicated story I don't want to bother you with. I thought, if I treated others the way I was treated, it wouldn't hurt as much. Turns out my logic has flaws. It was wrong of me to make fun of you for dating your slave, not to mention hypocritical as I'm exactly the same."

I stared at her, deep in thought. Who would have thought Rebekah had layers? I've always thought of her as another one of those spoiled little rich girls who think the entire world has the bow at their feet, turn and revolve around them and them only. These hidden depths she revealed were quite a surprise.

As for her dating a slave, there was only one thing I could think of: _Wow._ Never took her for a _slave whore,_ as her little bully posse and everyone else (following their lead, of course) liked to call me.

"I'm here for Damon," I finally admitted.

Rebekah glanced at me in concern and squeezed my hand. Surprisingly, I didn't push her away. I could use some comfort. "They hurt him, didn't they? Your parents?" To my affirming nod she added: "My parents hurt mine, too. We're thinking of running away together after I graduate."

"I just feel so helpless," I said. I never imagined I'd find myself opening up to one person I used to despise; actually, I still hate her, only not as much as five minutes ago. What can I say? People in distress tend to seek comfort in the strangest of places. "I want to free him, but I don't know how."

"My brother promised he'd help free mine," she said. "My other, other, _other_ brother. The nice one. Well, _nicer._ He's a lawyer; it's kinda his specialty. He's helped free quite a lot of slaves and I hope he'll find a way to free Marcel."

"Marcel?"

"My slave. And boyfriend."

"Oh."

If only I had a brother to help me. If I went to Jeremy with this, he'd only make more of a mess, probably even somehow manage to enslave himself. My brother was an irresponsible wreck, and that's saying something coming from me.

"He's married to one, actually," Rebekah continued. "Elijah, the lawyer," she explained as a response to my puzzled glance. "Her name's Hayley. We're quite close, she and I. My other brother, the control freak, took advantage and left her with child. Elijah was kind enough to grant her freedom. They bonded and got married a few years later. My niece thinks of him as her real father."

"How nice," I commented absent-mindedly.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Elijah also tried freeing Sage, Finn's then-girlfriend, but before he could make it happen she and Finn got married." For some reason she seemed to have general distaste to this Sage, but I didn't bother comment on that. The Rebekah I know hated almost everyone, so it was of no surprise that she'd dislike her brother's girl, especially if she happened to have a flaw such as being unpopular or wearing a color Rebekah deemed to be ugly. "Marriage grants instant freedom, you know?"

Interesting. If I was the marriage type, I'd definitely consider it. Somehow I doubted Damon was up for that, either. But if it was the only thing left for us to do, I guess we'd have to do it, even if it went against everything we stood for. I'd have to talk to him about it, of course. I do, however, have to admit that I was interested. Everything and anything that could help and benefit him was of interest to me.

This talk with Rebekah really helped; _she_ really helped. Guess I was wrong about her. She wasn't so bad, after all.

"Here," she said suddenly, startling me. She handed me a small piece of paper; written on it was a number and an address I wasn't familiar with. "This is Elijah's info. Just tell him I sent you."

"Thank you, Rebekah," I said, smiling, and I meant it. I was grateful to no end.

"No problem. But say none of this to no one. This conversation never happened, alright? I have a reputation to uphold," she said with a smirk.

I winked at her, already feeling a little bit better. There was still hope for Damon and me, and hope was good. "It's a deal."

* * *

><p>To say I rushed into his room after finally being informed I was allowed to see him would be an understatement.<p>

I could barely suppress tears at the sight of him. He looked so fragile and vulnerable, bandages covering most of his body, making him look more like a living mummy than a man I was so very much in love with. Still, he was my Damon, injuries or not. I loved him no matter what. Hell, I'd love him if he was covered in mud and other suspicious substances from head to toe. Probably.

He smiled at me; it was a forced smile, one he obviously tried his best (and failed) to make look as natural as possible to not worry me further. He looked so broken like that and I just wanted to cradle him in my arms like a child, kiss his wounds away and promise everything would turn out fine even though I knew it wouldn't. Nothing would ever be fine, not after this.

But things _could_ be better.

"Hey," I said softly as I seated myself next to him. This chair, unlike the one in the waiting room, was actually pretty comfortable.

"Hey," he replied. He sounded a bit stronger now, pain medicine they've given him working like a charm.

I gently took his hand in mine. I couldn't resist touching him, making sure he was here with me, alive and soon to be well. I leaned down and pressed a small, chaste kiss to his lips; the lower one was split and he flinched at the touch which I was quick to apologize for.

"It's okay," he assured me, giving our holding hands a squeeze.

"I was told you'll be fine," I said.

"So I've heard," Damon joked, prompting me to let out a small, short-lasting giggle.

"I'm glad."

Suddenly he laughed and I looked at him, confusion hanging over my face like a bag of bones. His seemed to be in some kind of delirium, a rush of joy and ecstasy completely taking over, his new demeanor more like that of a local drunk than an injured, broken man he was.

"Man, this stuff is good," he said through his little fit.

I looked over to the medical chart attached to his bed. There was a long list of meds I've never even heard of, though some, and their respective side effects, were all too familiar to me. When your parents are doctors, you learn a thing or two over the years. "It's morphine," I told him

My parents… I couldn't help but wonder where they were right now. They obviously weren't at work, otherwise I'd have already seen them, and no doubt Meredith would have informed me of their arrival. What they were thinking about? Were they sorry for all the harm they'd caused? No, they weren't the kind of people capable of remorse, especially over harming (which in their dictionary meant _disciplining)_ a slave.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm having a hell of a time," Damon said a bit too enthusiastically. "Should've tried it sooner," he added, following it with that eyebrow thing that made him all the more attractive and desirable, the thing that made me all the more crazy inside – and it was the good, welcome kind of crazy I yearned for.

"I'll remember that…" I trailed off, lost in thoughts. _I'll remember that for next time._ I shouldn't have said that, but it was almost completely out when I realized just what I was implying and how fucking wrong it sounded. There would be _no_ next time. Not now, not ever. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"I know," he said, suddenly growing serious, his grip on my hand tightening in a supportive, comforting manner. Why is it that I always manage to ruin the mood? I'm such a killjoy without even trying.

"It won't-"

"I know," Damon repeated, looking me in the eye to show he meant it.

"We need to talk about this," I said. I hated to ruin his fun, but this was something we couldn't ignore, a conversation that needed to be held as soon as possible.

"Does that mean I get to take some of this stuff home?" he asked with a wink, trying to bring back the fun because that's what he does best at times like these and he does is so fucking well that I couldn't help but feel guilty for ruining it for him.

"Not that, Damon. _This. _This mess we're in. Remember how I said I'd sue my parents? I will. I will file a report, take them to court. I'll make them pay for what they did to you."

"What's the point Elena?" he demanded, suddenly serious. I could see the look of pain in his eyes, helplessness rushing to the surface like a hot, destructive geyser. "Last time I checked, I was still a slave. It's my word against theirs. No one will believe me."

"I believe you," I said, leaning in for another kiss, this one to the forehead.

"Yes. _You, _Elena," he said sharply. "Only you."

"No." I refused to believe that. There had to be someone out there, _anyone,_ willing to take his side; _our_ side. "I heard about someone. There's this lawyer, Elijah Mikaelson. He's an expert in these kinds of things."

"Mikaelson?" he inquired with distaste. "As in Rebekah? That bitch that told everyone about us and humiliated you in front of the entire school?"

"She… We talked, Damon. Turns out, she and I have a lot more in common than we thought. Her brother has almost a one hundred percent success rate when it comes to aiding slaves. Please, just consider it."

After Rebekah left with her newly-released brother, I Googled Elijah and found some rather interesting info. Most of his slave-freeing and defending cases turned out to be successful. He was America's number one lawyer in cases involving mistreatment and abuse of slaves, and much to my joy, he lived right in this shithole of a small town.

As such, his services were probably expensive as hell, but I would find a way. Everything just to avenge the man I loved and protect him from future harm.

"Fine," Damon said after a short while, though he obviously still wasn't completely convinced this idea could bring much good. "But don't get your hopes up, Elena. Even if he's the best of the best, your parents have influence in this town."

"Doesn't matter," I said. "If this doesn't work, there is one other option for us to consider. This one would grant you instant freedom."

This piqued his interest. "And what would that be?"

"Marriage."

He burst into uncontrollable laughter, in complete disbelief, not sure if I was messing with his head or giving him false hope. It was short lived, however; his expression darkened when realization that I was serious sank in, the look in his eyes that of compete defiance.

"Do I look look like the settling-down type?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mockery. "We've known each other for, what? A little bit over three months? And you want to get married?"

"It doesn't matter what I want," I said. "This is about you, about setting you free. So yes, I will gladly say yes in a room full of strangers pretending to care, when all they want is to get the goddamn ritual over with to get wasted afterwards, because I can't be selfish with you Damon. I will do anything for you because I love you, and because I know that, if roles were reversed, you'd do the same for me."

According to law, marriage has to last at least six months for the slave's free status to catch on. If things don't work out, we could easily get divorced after that half a year period. It pained me to even think about it. Separation from him seemed like fate worse than death; it equaled suicide in so many ways. I wanted to stay with him forever, and I knew he wanted that, too. We needed each other like we needed to breathe the air; we were each other's sky and stars, sun and moon, life and death.

"That I would," Damon finally said.

"The sheriff will be here soon. She's gonna need your statement," I said, looking at the clock. Caroline sent me a text a while later, saying her mom would arrive as soon as she handled some things at the station.

"Me?" he asked in disbelief. "Why'd she wanna talk to me?"

"Because you're the victim," I pointed out. The word _victim_ left a bad taste in my mouth; it was a word I didn't want to associate with Damon, and judging by the way he uncomfortably shifted in bed, I could see he didn't like it either. "I'm just a witness."

"You also happen to be my owner, in case you forgot," he reminded me in a snarky manner.

"I will be here the entire time," I promised. I wanted to be by his side, hold his hand as he told the sheriff everything, relived one of the worst experiences in his life through a story I just knew would break him all over again. And even if I didn't, the law required the owner to be present during their slave's interrogation.

You can see the flaw in that, right? Not every slave is as lucky as Damon to have an owner as kind and supportive as me.

"What if that's not enough?" he asked and I sighed. It will be enough – it has to be. I know they say hope is a bitch, but it was all we had.

"Sheriff Forbes is the best this town has to offer. Trust me, she'll do her best to help us," I said. "To help _you."_

"Then what? We go back home to those very people we're fighting against? Doesn't seem like it'll hold in court," Damon told me.

"No, we're not going back there. When they release you, I'm taking you to the lake house. You'll be safe there."

"You'd really do that, wouldn't you?" he asked. I shot him a puzzled look and he elaborated: "Go against your parents for someone like me."

"I'd go against anyone for you," I stated.

"They're your family."

_"__You_ are my family now, Damon. I chose you," I said. "And I will _always_ choose you."

"Even if I'm bad for you?" he inquired.

I nodded, once again kissing him with care. It was hard to be so in control in his presence when all I wanted to do was rip all those bandages off him, chain him to that bed, and take him all for myself in all the wrong ways whilst all nurses and doctors watched wishing they were us, wishing their love lives were as strong and epic as ours, and knowing that nothing they would ever experience could compete with something as powerful as what Damon and I have.

He was a bad boy, a bad influence, a force not to be messed with. Yet I wanted him so, so much, with all my being, all my heart. And I would fight for him even if it killed me.

All girls want bad boys. I am no exception.

"Especially if you're bad for me," I said teasingly.

"My, Miss Gilbert, you never cease to amaze me," he joked, his eyebrows giving that irresistible waggle I loved so much. "Never thought you had it in you."

"Should I be insulted?" I wondered with a giggle.

Damon simply shrugged, wincing in the process, and I instinctively laid my palm against his bandaged shoulder to prevent further movement. I hated seeing him this vulnerable, in pain I should have been able to prevent, and mostly I hated the fact that I could do nothing about it. If only there was some way for me to magically remove his injuries and make him all well again, to somehow kiss all this hurt away and make those gorgeous lips of his widen into the most beautiful of smiles and show off those pretty pearly teeth.

But there wasn't. And it tore me apart to be so helpless when the person I loved most was hurting.

"Careful," I instructed. "You'll hurt yourself."

He rolled his eyes; he actually rolled his eyes and if this was any other time I would be annoyed, but now I was kind of glad to see he still hasn't lost his spark that attracted me to him in the first place. He was still that arrogant ass of a man and I loved him for it, loved those virtues that would send any sane person running away in tears, but not me. No, I adored that about him, cherished him for feeling free to be himself around me because that's what I wanted from him from the very first moment I laid my eyes on him.

He was an ass, but he was my ass. And he had quite a nice ass, actually.

"You don't have to go all _mama bear mode_ on me, I'm fine. This is nothing," Damon said nonchalantly, as if it would change anything. His words only made me worry more. Who knew what he'd attempt while I was away? This is Damon we're talking about. The man would probably do something just to piss someone, usually me, off if no one was looking. Actually, he'd do it _especially_ if someone was looking.

"You're not fine. You're far from fine. So," I said, raising my forefinger to prove my point, "you will stay right here in this bed and not move a muscle unless you really, _really_ have to until the good doctor says otherwise."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that an order?" he asked, his voice bearing traces of childish playfulness I've gotten used to, and I decided to play along just for the sake of fun because god knows he needed some fun right now in these distressful times.

"As a matter of fact, it is."

"In that case, _mistress,"_ he purred the word in my ear, making me quiver and shiver all over. The influence that man had over me was infuriating. Sometimes I just wanted to both hug and kiss him at the same time and never did it occur to me why. It was just the way he was – highly addictive, dangerous, and so, so fucking irresistible that I never wanted to leave his side again. "I guess I'll have to obey. But," this time it was him who raised a forefinger and waved it in my face, "you are gonna have to make it up to me."

I giggled. Challenge accepted. "Oh, I will make it up to you. Once you're all better, of course." Wouldn't want him to break. He was already broken enough as it was, I didn't want to add more to his pain.

"You better. Otherwise I'd be forced to punish you," he teased. His hand wandered over to mine and he brought my fingers to his wounded lips, pecking them one by one, his kisses tender, gentle, almost inviting to what we both wanted but unfortunately couldn't do right here and now, and it was killing me how much I just wanted to forget about where we are and how much pain he's in, and just do it for the sake of forbidden danger that was this temptation.

_You're already punishing me,_ I thought, but instead of saying it out loud I just leaned down and brushed my lips against his, doing my best to be as careful as possible. This time he didn't flinch. Instead he deepened the kiss, pulling me in, his hands attempting to wrap around my neck before pain took him over and he groaned, turning away from me in embarrassment for ruining the moment and being a weakling I never thought of him as.

"Hey, hey," I said. My fingers caressed his cheek, slowly turning his head to face me, his eyes locking with mine bearing a look I've never before seen in them. It was shame and self-loathing, hatred for being a coward when he was everything but, his dark, self-destructive thoughts reflected in those mesmerizing orbs that made my own well up with tears. "Don't do that. You have nothing to be ashamed of. It's okay to feel. You're only human, Damon. I still love you; I will _always_ love you, no matter what. Don't ever forget that. It's okay, I promise."

And just like that he crumbled, allowing me to wrap my arms around him in a comforting hug before burying his head in my chest and letting those tears he tried so hard to hold back fall, soaking my shirt as he wept, and wept, and wept like an inconsolable child, physical pain all forgotten in favor of all those emotions he kept hidden in a Pandora box-like safe place that had now broken apart and let all the anguish, all suffering and despair out.

"I'm here, Damon," I whispered, resting my face on top of his head, my own tears spilling into his silky hair. I pressed a small kiss to his head before closing my eyes and shutting everything out, that familiar scent of his hair welcomingly filling my nostrils as I allowed him to let everything that hurt, everything that pained and held him back out. "I will always be here."

_Because I love you, my beautiful bad boy._

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><p><strong>Don't you all just wish you could nurse Damon back to health? Because I sure as hell do. I have a soft spot for hot men in distress, especially when one of them happens to be Damon Salvatore.<strong>

**Tell me your thoughts and I'll keep the chapters coming.**


	11. Reality Bites

**Wow! So many reviews! Thank you all so much, here's a bunch of kisses and hugs and virtual cookies to you all!**

**Early Merry Christmas, guys! And merry… whatever holiday you're celebrating! To cover everyone: happy holidays! This slightly longer chapter is my present to ****all**** of you faithful readers and reviewers.**

**That was a lot of exclamation points.**

**I recently wrote a Christmas Delena oneshot called Flashes. I would really love it if you guys checked it out, maybe even left a review. Pretty please?**

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><p><em>I've been losing myself in anger<em>

_So much broken by the rage_

_Nothing could take my mind off_

_How to make them pay_

_~ Tell Me Why by Within Temptation_

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><p><strong>~ Reality Bites ~<strong>

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><p>The entire process with Sheriff Forbes was quite a pleasant experience, a complete opposite from what both Damon and I expected. She was a nice lady, very kind and sweet, never even looking at Damon the wrong way, much less saying anything that would suggest offense or rudeness. She listened to every word he said, wrote down every little detail he remembered to bring up, and used her softest approach to get us to confide in her. Not once had she thought to comment on our unusual relationship. She actually seemed to be supporting it and it made me respect her even more.<p>

"We can do something, right?" I asked, my hand still firmly placed over Damon's. I wasn't ready to let him go. A minute without touching him felt like a curse and I wasn't in the mood for sorrow that I already had too much on my hands of.

"There are laws against this, yes," the sheriff confirmed, nodding her head. "You can sue for property damage and slave abuse, though it's debatable whether the latter would hold in court due to his… condition."

I've heard of slave abuse laws. They were rarely, if ever, upheld. Owners and other _punishers_ received sentences only if the slave in question died, and even then there was a high chance for them to get away with it. Damon, thankfully, wasn't dead, which meant my parents could get off with only a warning, though due to their influence in this town, I was certain the judge would be willing to turn a blind eye.

Property damage, however, was quite an offense, almost akin to vandalism. But still, if the court deemed the punishment necessary, once again Damon would come out a victim and our battle would bring nothing but pain for us both.

"Can they take him from me?" I inquired, my entire body stiffening at the thought. I couldn't bear to even imagine losing him, having him be ripped away from my arms now that I finally had him right where I wanted him. Even thinking about it hurt.

I remember how the paramedics took him from me when they burst into my home after receiving my distress call. I was numb and pretty much unaware of everything about me, but I can still feel the same pain I felt when he was taken from me and put on a stretcher which just rolled off, farther and farther away from me, my teary eyes following its path before one of the paramedics whose face I neither couldn't nor wanted to see helped me get up and walked me to the broken mess that was my Damon.

"They can't take me!" my boyfriend snapped, frowning, his eyes darting from me to the sheriff. "As much as I like to push their buttons – and yes, Elena, I see _and_ feel where it got me, thank you very much. It certainly wasn't a pleasant experience – I want to stay with _this_ one." His glance finally settled on me and a smug smile crept onto his face. "Her ass is much better and she has bigger boobs."

I rolled my eyes, suppressing the urge to punch his shoulder in warning, my cheeks red with shame. Have we not had company, I would've shown him just how big my boobs were and how good my ass _actually_ was, but right now it just felt wrong. And embarrassing. What else should I expect from a pervert such as him? If only he could keep his damn mouth shut. That was what got us in this mess in the first place.

Okay, that was wrong of me to say. It wasn't his fault my parents are psychopaths, but still. Sometimes he can be so infuriating that I just can't help myself but think bad; very, very bad thoughts – both the good and bad kind.

The sheriff just, albeit uncomfortably, smiled. "Not if you're his lawful owner," she replied.

"I am," I said, sighing in relief. "I have papers to prove it."

"There's nothing to worry about, then. But Elena, I have to ask. Are you sure you want to do this? You know how things work in small towns," she said.

Of course I knew that. The more money you have, the higher the chance of you getting away with things.

"Then we'll go to Supreme Court!" I exclaimed and Damon squeezed my hand in reassurance, all goofiness and smugness gone from his face and replaced with a look of worry and concern for me. A part of him felt proud, I could see it in his eyes. He was lucky to have me and had the sheriff not been here, I'm certain he'd repay me with more than just a normal kiss – or at least attempt to, as I had no intention of doing _that_ in a hospital.

I wasn't going to let them get away with this, not now that I've gotten this far. They will pay, that I swore! They will regret every tear, every cut, every drop of blood he shed because of their cruel treatment. They will end up begging for mercy at his feet, and I will gladly help him send them straight to hell because that is exactly where they and people like them belong.

"You're saying we have a chance," Damon said, looking the sheriff in the eye. He wasn't too fond of me pursuing this, though he still remained supportive out of compassion and consideration for me. If it was up to him, this case, or lack thereof, wouldn't gather half the attention it had. I felt bad, in a way, for making him do this, though it was for better good. They couldn't just walk away unpunished, not after everything they've put him through.

She nodded. "There is a high chance for me to be requested to testify, and I can assure you that I will put in a good word for you. I can't promise you a happy ending, but I will do my best to expose them for who they really are."

"Thank you, sheriff Forbes," I said. There were no words to express my true gratitude. Nothing less to expect of a Forbes family member.

"It's not a problem. But Elena? Find a good lawyer. You _will_ need one."

"I already have one in mind," I admitted. It wouldn't hurt to tell her who I intended to hire. The woman seemed rather trustworthy. When I was a kid, she was more of a mother to me than my own mom was, and that's saying something. I used to enjoy going over to Caroline's. The Forbes family slaves were always nice and well-treated; smiles were on their faces at all times and they seemed to be actually happy to work for such a nice family. "Elijah Mikaelson. You know him?"

"I've heard of him. An honorable man, respected in the community. Good luck, Elena, Damon," she said on her way out. "You will need it."

As soon as she was gone, I collapsed into Damon's arms, burying my face into his chest, placing small kisses to his exposed skin. He hissed out in pain and I was quick to step back and mutter an apology. He pulled me right back, kissing me, holding me as though he had no intention of ever letting go.

"That was nothing," he assured me, following it with a small peck on my forehead.

"I don't want to hurt you."

His lips curled into a small, adorable little smile that he knew I could never say no to. "You won't. I love you, Elena Gilbert," he said, his voice a seductive, tempting whisper I found myself barely able to resist. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

"I will never give up on you," I said. "Not now that we've gotten this far. We'll get through this, Damon. You heard what Sheriff Forbes said. There's hope for this to be over. You won't have to be afraid anymore."

"I'm not afraid for me, Elena," he stated, hurt at the insinuation of obvious weakness he so desperately wanted to hide from me. As usual, he wanted to be the bad guy, the villain of this story, but the truth was, he was an anti-hero just like me. We were both good and bad at the same time, toxic with a slight degree of danger, crazy in love, lost in a dream we knew would never come true exactly the way we wanted it to yet we still kept dreaming it because it felt so fucking right and good.

"Nothing will happen to me, I promise," I said sincerely, lightly pecking his cheek.

We kept quiet about his earlier breakdown, acting as though nothing happened. He obviously wanted to pretend nothing did happen and I went along with it, though it made me feel sad to see him in such denial. He was a human being, normal, emotional, in need of love and affection just like everyone else. There is nothing wrong in crying every once in a while. I'd never look at him any differently.

He was still my Damon: dangerous, tempting, so goddamn perverse that I wanted to both strangle and kiss him at the same time. Feeling was good. I could never judge him, not for being only human and in pain. After everything he's been through, it's only normal he needed an outlet for all the emotions that built up inside of him. All of that had to erupt one day and I'm glad I was there to comfort him when that happened, and I would do it again in a heartbeat because that's what true love is for.

I will always be there in times like that. He needed to know that.

"I have some things to do. Be a good boy while I'm gone," I said with a small smile.

He frowned at me. "Where are you going?" he inquired, his grip on me tightening, silently begging me to stay, to not leave him alone because I knew, even if he wouldn't admit it, that he was scared of being alone right now as it was still too soon and the nightmares would surely come back if his eyes were to close for a short slumber.

I needed to visit Elijah as soon as possible; Damon's life literally depended on it. I couldn't endure this torture anymore. My parents needed to be punished, and they needed to be punished now for this little paradise Damon and I envisioned, safe and secure in each other's arms, to happen. I couldn't keep living like this, constantly looking over my shoulder in fear of my own flesh and blood coming after my boyfriend as an act of petty revenge.

"We'll talk when I get back, okay?" I said softly, my forefinger tracing the soft skin of his cheek, trailing down to his lips that just screamed for mine to crash into them. But I couldn't, not until his wounds healed; until then it's tender, soft touches only. "Don't you disappear on me. I won't be gone long."

"You better not. It can get pretty boring in here. Those nurses aren't nearly as hot in real life as they are on TV," he whined, prompting me to roll my eyes and shoot him a mock-jealous look, to which he simply shrugged. "And bring me something to eat. I hear hospital food sucks," he added with a smirk.

I nodded in agreement. We sealed the deal with a small kiss and in the blink of an eye I was out the door, heading for the only salvation I knew of. This Elijah guy better be good. I wouldn't like to get my hands dirty with my parents' blood, but if things don't go as planned, what other choice do I have?

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><p>After getting lost at least five times, I finally found Elijah Mikaelson's office. It felt weird to drive on my own; it was Damon who usually drove me around, teased me along the way and made double entendres that I always pretended to hate when in reality I couldn't get enough of his perverted nature. I missed his little quirks, missed the way he pronounced his every word; it was <em>Damon<em> way, and just like everything else _Damon,_ I loved it.

I knocked a few times before hearing an invitation. Elijah was an interesting looking man. He was clad in elegant, impeccable suit that probably cost more than my car, and the way he greeted me reeked of politeness. His office room was huge, furniture and paintings hanging on the walls obviously old and well-kept, bearing the highest of quality.

It seemed Elijah Mikaelson gave much thought to appearance, as everything on him, and everything of his revealed excellent taste only a man as rich and powerful as him could afford. If I was to judge a book by its cover, I'd say he's a warrior who knows how to fight his battles and win them in an epic way.

The Internet would surely agree with me.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Mikaelson," I said. Before I got in my car I made a quick call to arrange the meeting. Elijah was kind enough to allow me to see him right now after hearing a short summary of Damon and my story, and I could see he was eager to find out the rest. Everyone is always up for a good dosage of gossip, even high class, filthy rich attorneys.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gilbert," he said politely, gesturing to a chair across his table. "Have a seat, please."

"I'm really sorry to bother you on such short notice, but Rebekah said you could help."

"I see," he said with a slight, but content nod. "Pardon my prying, but what business do you have with my sister?"

"We're… friends?" It came out as more of a question than a statement. Thankfully, he didn't mind the obvious lie; instead he went straight down to business.

"You are aware my services require amounts of money not many can afford?"

"Yes," I said. "I can pay." Okay, so maybe I can't at the moment, but a lot of things can change in the future. I think I read somewhere that, if my parents were to lose the case, they would be required to pay for all court fees, including our lawyers. I sure hoped to god it was true; if not, I'd just have to think of something else. Maybe my aunt Jenna could help. She always used to give Jeremy and me money when we were kids.

"Alright. First I have to tell you, Miss Gilbert, whilst I win most my cases, I cannot guarantee a one hundred percent success."

"I'm well aware of that," I confirmed.

_Hope. Just have hope, Elena. Hope is good. You can't give up now._

Once again I felt a sting of anger. Rage was overflowing my veins, boiling my blood, making my hands and knees tremble. They can't win this; they can't get away with what they've done. There will be consequences, justice system be damned. I'll make sure of it. If not by the hand of law, then by _my_ hand. I didn't care about the consequences, not anymore. The only thing I cared about was Damon and justice for torment and suffering he has been forced to endure.

I've only recently got Damon back, only to almost lose him all over again. And for what? Hatred? Intolerance? If nothing else, it was hate crime. If something wasn't done about this soon, I felt like I was going to flip. And me flipping the switch, turning all the good emotions off for the bad ones to resurface and take over was a bad, bad thing. It's never happened to me before, never once had I lost it, but if I was to, I just knew bad things would happen.

And once again, if I did bad things, I'd lose Damon. That was a risk I wasn't willing to take.

God, why did this have to be so complicated? I was in a state of complete conflict, my every thought contradicting the other. On one hand I wanted vigilante revenge and on another I was willing to settle for a jail or any other kind of sentence for the perpetrators.

I didn't know what to do anymore.

"I'm desperate," I added after a short moment of silence, confusing words flooding my mind, disturbing images of what I sincerely wished to do to those who harmed the one I love flashing before my eyes. Elijah glanced at me, intrigued, and prompted to write something down on his notepad. "Please, help me. He's… We're in love. I can't keep on living in fear that someone will do something to him just because he…"

_Because he's a slave._ Even now that word still left a bad taste in my mouth.

"So you wish for your slave to be freed. Have you considered marriage?" Elijah inquired and I slightly nodded.

"It's too soon," I said. Whilst we were madly in love, there was no guarantee we would last forever, especially since we've only known each other for a short while. We've talked about it and decided it wasn't an option, not yet anyway. Actually, he decided and I went along with it, but I made it perfectly clear that I was ready to do just about anything for him.

"What about your parents? From what I gathered, an incident involving them is what triggered this."

_Calling it an incident is an understatement._ "They almost killed him," I said. Taking a deep breath, I told him the entire story, from the very beginning to the bloody ending. He wrote down notes for the entirety of my monologue, questioning every detail, asking me to repeat every single thing he deemed to be important.

"I can help you with this," Elijah finally said, looking over his notes. "However, I can see we might have some difficulties. You mentioned Mr. Salvatore has changed many homes, correct?"

This was the first I've heard anyone refer to Damon as Mr. Salvatore – well, anyone other than me when I teased him during our romantic moments. "Yes, that is correct."

"According to your statement, he was punished frequently and severely by previous owners," Elijah stated.

I did _not_ like the sound of that. Was he implying Damon did that all to himself? That those horrible scars he bore were somehow his fault? Was this the "asking for it" argument most people used to blame and shame the victim? Because it sure as hell sounded like it. "What does that have to do with anything? You're supposed to be on our side! You're supposed to help us!" I accused.

"I _am_ on your side, Miss Gilbert. But in order for me to help you, I need to know all facts," Elijah said matter-of-factly, so serious it almost hurt. He was calm and docile, obviously experienced in this field, trained not to show irritability to and at clients, even if they annoyed him to no end which, as it seemed, appeared to be what I was doing right now.

"He's covered in scars," I told him, the memory of Damon's injured body flashing before my eyes and sending my emotions into another one of those frequent fireworks of rage.

"And you claim he's been on his best behavior whilst in your possession?"

Except for pushing my buttons every two minutes or so, yes. I decided to leave that part out, though. I didn't think it'd help our case much if I stated that the very slave I was fighting for was actually a conceited, arrogant asshole who only ever wants to have sex and that one of his favorite hobbies is making dirty, sarcastic comments that only I find appealing.

"He has," I said. A little lie never hurt anyone.

I wouldn't call it a lie, really. He's been good to me since we started dating. More than good, actually. He's been a sweetheart, a man a girl like me can only dream of: sexy, wonderful, irresistible and sweet beyond belief. There it was again, that sudden urge to violently take him and have my way with him, and I dug my nails into the fabric of my jeans to suppress it, hoping a little bit of pain would make it go away.

It didn't.

"Is everything alright, Miss Gilbert? You look unwell," Elijah commented.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead, shaking my head. "I'm fine. Just… nervous." _And horny; so very horny._ But I couldn't tell him that, now could I?

"Let us continue, then. The point of me asking these kinds of questions isn't to torment neither you nor your lover."

I liked the way he said _lover;_ it made Damon seem forbidden and dangerous, and therefore all the more desirable. _Deep breaths, Elena. Deep breaths._ I couldn't wait till Damon was well enough to show him just how much I wanted him. I craved his body. He was my drug, my addiction, my weakness. It hurt to be here without him, hurt to breathe and speak without him being here to hear it, hurt to feel without being able to share it with him.

"Your parents' lawyers will, no doubt, dig up some dirt about Mr. Salvatore. Whatever it is they discover could help them win. I advise you to tell him to be prepared to meet with his previous owners as they will most likely be called to the stand."

_You have got to be kidding me!_ Meeting them, those very people who hurt him most, maybe ever worse than this, would crush him. Meeting Katherine again would crush him. I could just picture his heart breaking at the mention of her name. I wished I could keep this a secret, somehow keep this information all to myself, but I knew I had to tell him.

He had to know what to expect. I had no right to keep it from him, even if I wanted to protect him. Because lately that's all I wanted _and_ needed to do.

* * *

><p>"Elena, honey."<p>

I stopped in my tracks, dropping my car keys at the sound of a familiar voice I'd least wanted to hear right now. I turned around, facing my mother who looked so convincingly concerned that it was almost disturbing. In her hand was a large shopping bag and on her face a smile that was apparently supposed to show off happiness at the sight of me, but it only made her look all the more disgusting.

Has she been following me? Certainly this couldn't be an accidental meeting.

"You haven't returned home," mom said in her fake worried voice and I barely suppressed a laugh that aroused in my throat. "When your father and I returned, you weren't there. We were worried, sweetheart."

"Don't," I said simply.

I had no time for this. I promised Damon I'd return soon and I didn't want him to think I abandoned him by taking too long. He was injured and in need of someone, and I was the only one there for him, the only one who cared enough to visit him and hold his hand as he cried and kiss him as he laughed because that's just the way he was and I loved him for it. Not to mention that _I_ had to be with him for my own sake, for I loved him so much I couldn't stand to be apart from him for long.

Call me selfish – that won't change the fact that we needed each other and right now my mother was in my way.

And I hated it when people I despised got in my way.

"Can't we just talk about everything?" mom tried, walking over to me and reaching for my hand.

I flinched, the mere thought of her touching me making my stomach turn and twist into an unpleasant knot. "Don't touch me," I said in a low voice in a manner so threatening it made her back away for a few steps. So she got the hint. Finally.

"Please, sweetheart," mom begged. For a moment there I thought she was honest, but I saw something behind those tear-stained eyes: contempt, deceit, manipulation she'd practiced almost to the point of perfection. She didn't love me. I doubt she ever truly loved me. The only thing she cared about was her reputation. What would people think if they found out her precious daughter was running around with a slave? What would they say if word got out that rich princess Elena Gilbert choose her slave over her loving parents?

A shame, a disaster, that's what I was. She was ashamed of me and she hated Damon. She was willing to say and do anything, even lie to her own daughter's face and pretend to be a caring mother to maintain that wretched reputation. And Damon? I have no doubt she had something in store for him, and that something didn't feel nor seem good. It never is when it comes to Miranda and Grayson Gilbert.

It only made my blood boil. I couldn't take it anymore. She and dad did that to him. They hurt him, broke him, ripped him apart like he was nothing but a meaningless plaything and they forced me to watch helplessly as they hurt the one person I loved more than anything. I wasn't having it, none of it. Not anymore.

You mess with Damon – you mess with me. It's that simple.

"We may have been a little extreme," mom admitted, albeit reluctantly.

"A _little_ extreme?" I snapped. It that was _little,_ I didn't even want to know what they considered a _big_ extremity. "You put him in a hospital! He almost died!"

By now people passing by had their eyes on us, but I didn't care. My mom had to hear this; she deserved to hear every word that would come out of my mouth, every accusation, every truth she so hard wanted to pretend was a lie because I needed her and everyone else in this wreck of a town to hear it and know just what kind of a person their respected doctor really is.

"You made me watch!"

I was crying now, tears spilling by themselves, sliding down my cheeks in a fast, uncontrollable stream. That feeling of helplessness returned, memories of that horrible moment flashing before my eyes like an unstoppable storm destructing everything in its way. Screaming. Crying. Blood. That look of hurt and pain in Damon's eyes. More blood. Me clinging to him. Cuts. Bruises. Scars. Even more blood. The 911 lady's futile attempts to calm me down. Blood everywhere.

Blood fucking everywhere.

I was so useless, so fucking useless. My boyfriend was being beaten in front of me and the only thing I could do was watch because my own mother was holding me back in some sort of conspiracy act with my father.

"How could you?" I demanded, waving my arms around, my entire body shaking as if I was amidst a seizure, unable to control my movements. My breathing fastened, my heart beating hard against my chest, and I felt weak, so fucking weak that I could barely stand, but I had to keep a façade and be strong. For Damon. Because he would be strong. He wouldn't falter, wouldn't stumble. That's just the way he was.

He didn't deserve a weak girlfriend such as me. How could I protect him if I couldn't even stand my ground – literally?

Mom simply shrugged, as though my outburst meant nothing. I was there in tears, an inch away from falling apart, and her response to that was a shrug? What the hell was wrong with that woman?

"He's alive, isn't he?" she offered as if that somehow made this mess they've caused right.

It only pissed me off even more. But then again, what should have I expected from a person as despicable as her? "How dare you? I can't believe you-wait, no…" I shook my head, taking a few deep breaths. This was too much, even for me. This was too believable to be unbelievable. If I didn't know her so well, I would be shocked to hear such words leave her mouth. "I can't even act surprised."

"Elena, please-"

"Just drop it!" I shrieked, sick of this confrontation. _This is not happening._ I needed Damon: I needed to see him, talk to him, make sure he's okay just for my own sake. I needed to kiss him to remind myself that he made it through this hell and that everything would be okay from now on because I wasn't going to give up on him, on us. Not now, not ever.

Not anymore.

Everyone else can go fuck themselves. If you aren't with us, you're against us. That's all there is to it.

"See you in court, _mother,"_ I said.

It felt wrong calling her _mom, mother, mommy_ or anything endearing like that. A mother doesn't conspire with a father to beat the hell out of an innocent person whose only crime was loving their daughter, and force said daughter to watch in distress, restrained by one person she was supposed to trust most. There are lines you just don't cross, and they crossed them all without a hint of remorse.

I picked up my keys and got into my car, but not before adding, much to her horror: "May you rot in hell." I started the engine, my eyes glued to my mother whose tears looked almost genuine.

Running her over would be so easy, I thought. Suddenly I was imagining it in full detail. Pictures of her dead body flooded my mind. I could see myself cleaning up the blood, dumping the body somewhere it wouldn't be found, then locating my dad and doing the same to him and finally running off into sunset with Damon with no one holding us back and cracking a whip over out heads.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't work like that in real life.

Police would be involved, I'd get discovered and put behind bars for the rest of my life. Damon would be left all alone, probably sold to some jackass who'd abuse him as much as his previous owners did, maybe ever worse. He'd have no one to care for him, no one to protect him, no one to love him. I'd only do more harm than good.

So I drove past my mom, my rational side taking over the dark one, missing her by barely an inch, a smile creeping onto my face at her shocked, bewildered expression.

_Serves you right._

When I returned to the hospital, I said no hello, no greeting, no nothing. I just ran straight for my boyfriend, wrapped my arms around him and kissed him until I ran out of breath.

He's safe and he's mine. That's all that matters to me.

* * *

><p>"Careful."<p>

"I don't need a babysitter, Elena," Damon snapped as I wrapped my arm around his waist. After a week of hospitalization, he was finally allowed to go home. He was still pretty bruised and sore, fragile to the touch but able to walk, albeit barely and only with my help. Or at least that's what I kept telling myself as I clung on to him in fear of him falling down and getting hurt even more than he already was.

His bandages were off, revealing scabs that used to be open, painful wounds. It wasn't a pleasant sight, yet at the same time I was glad he's overcome the worst. Now I was sure he would be okay and that's the only thing that mattered. And if I had to be with him for every second of every the day, I had no complaints. If that meant no pain for him, I was all for it, no matter how many times he whined about me babying him.

"Well, you have one."

They're beaten him before, but not this bad. Never this bad. Until I was sure he wouldn't break if I even took even a step away from him, I was going to stay by his side whether he likes it or not. He's stuck with me anyway.

We slowly stepped inside the lake house and I helped him to the couch, the very same one where we had our first time. I smiled at the memory, but it was quickly wiped off my face, replaced by an anguished expression. I haven't _had _him that way in days and I was already starting to feel withdrawal symptoms. He tried to start some things at the hospital, every time I kissed and hugged him he'd attempt to get the mood on and always receive a rejection. I may have wanted him, but not in a room anyone could walk into at any time, and especially when he was in such a condition.

I like to have sex with my boyfriend when he isn't in pain and wincing at every touch. I don't like to beware my every movement in case I rip off a scab or open a closed wound – that's just tacky and ruins the mood.

"You're thinking about doing me, aren't you?" Damon asked, prompting me to jokingly punch him in the shoulder. That's how well he knew me: one look at me and he knew all there is to know about me, all my thoughts and darkest secrets an open book for him to read with ease. He hissed in pain and I quickly apologized, gently rubbing the spot I punched, only to see him doubling over in laughter. "Gotcha."

"Ass."

"I have a fine ass, thank you very much," he said cockily. "That's why you love me."

"True," I admitted, leaning into a kiss. God, it felt so good to be kissing him in a house we had all to ourselves, completely safe and, for at least a little while, away from any harm.

I moved to the lake house while he was at the hospital. I couldn't stand looking at my parents, their ever so confident faces bearing no hints of guilt or remorse for what they've done. And ever since that confrontation with my mother they looked like they wanted to kill me. I didn't want to take any chances (if horror movies taught me anything, it's that you never know what to expect from crazy people. Killing their own blood might not be such an unfamiliar thing for them), so I've gathered all my things first chance I got and settled in here.

And now that my man was here with me, I couldn't have been happier. Our dreams were slowly starting to become true and I ravished in it, devoured this feeling of freedom to do as we liked, when we liked, and how we liked. We didn't have to hide anymore and it felt so fucking good.

"Lookie what I got for you," I said, pulling out a fresh bottle of bourbon. He stared at it, shocked, and then kissed me again in gratitude, pulling me close and wrapping his strong arms around me.

"Why couldn't I have met you sooner?" he asked in-between kisses.

"That's what I've been wondering all this time."

We laid down in each other's arms. I was trying to be careful not to cause him any unnecessary pain, leaning against him gently, stroking his chest the way I knew wouldn't hurt him, placing tender kisses to his cheek and neck. It was a relief to see him this happy, this content in life, even though I knew it wouldn't last for long. It never did for him.

I told him all about my and Elijah's talk the moment I returned from Elijah's office. It hurt to bring up Katherine, him obviously more than me. I could have sworn I saw a tear trail down his cheek at the mere mention of her name, but decided not to bring it up. He had every right to hide his pain, every right to build back those protective walls he so often wore in the past to mask how truly hurt and broken he was.

"I won't let _her_ hurt you," I promised softly as he cradled me. He pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead, tightening his grip around me. It was a small display of gratitude, one I appreciated and cherished more than anything. Despite his bad guy façade, he was all I could ever want, all I could possibly need. Katherine could go straight to hell, along with my parents and everyone else who caused him pain.

This is all about him; all about _us._ And I'll be damned if I don't dare say we look fucking good together.

_"You_ could get hurt" he said softly, his voice coming off as a purr in my ear.

_You won't let that happen,_ I thought, remembering how he bravely stepped in front of me and took on the slap my father was about to deliver me to himself. He risked his own life to spare me the pain, to spare me one damn slap that I sure as hell would get over before any of the wounds he sustained in that unfair battle heal. He did it for me, because he loved me, because he wanted to protect me, and now I was going to protect him, fight for him with all I had even if it killed me because I owed him that much and he deserved it, all of it.

Life was hard enough on him as it was. It was time to turn the tables.

"I'll have you," I stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and I could hear his barely audible chuckle and feel his head move up and down in a nod.

"You will _always_ have me," he promised, his fingers gently interlocking with mine as if to prove the deal has been sealed and cannot be undone. "I will never leave you."

_I know you won't. I won't leave you, either. Never._

Because without me he'd be alone, and I would never let that happen, never have him go through all that cruelty all by himself because now I knew how much damage it could cause to a person and I wasn't going to allow him to crumble again, to be that broken, guarded shell of a man hiding behind steel walls because he deserved so much better than that simply for existing, being there for me when I needed him most even if he didn't know it.

He was my life now and I was his. Even if my parents end up winning this battle, the two of us will have each other, love each other, face this terrible reality we're forced to live in together.

I've always known reality was harsh, but only now has it occurred to me that it's a big, fat bitch. And it bites.

Hard.

* * *

><p><strong>You know what my favorite Christmas gift would be? Reviews! They'd make me really happy and I'd update real soon.<strong>

**Once again, happy holidays!**


	12. Coming Undone

**First of all I would like to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story, as well as my oneshots "Flashes" and "Beautifully Broken". You guys' support means a world to me! Apparently I made some people cry. I'm sorry, it was never my intention to make anyone sad.**

**Hope you all had a nice Christmas (and/or whatever other holiday you celebrated). Because mine was terrible. My mom died on December 2****nd**** this year and my dad (whom I loathe, it's a long and complicated story that I can't and won't share here) was at work, so I spent Christmas alone. There's this Croatian song called "Na Božić sama" (translation: "Alone on Christmas") that I listened to for the entire day because it perfectly described my day and mood. It's quickly become one of my favorite Christmas songs.**

**And the weather is way too warm. It was Christmas, yet outside it was like it was spring instead of winter. I didn't have that holiday feel at all.**

**So yeah, my Christmas sucked.**

**The only good thing is that my dad bought me a new phone. I guess that's his attempt of an apology for being a horrible father for 18 years.**

**Your reviews made me feel better. Special thanks goes to Natchez for being an amazing critic! You really helped me.**

**Now on to the story. As you probably noticed, I made a few changes to the cover. You can see the full (and much better) view on my Tumblr.**

**I have to warn you – my knowledge of courtroom procedures is rather basic (if that). I've looked up some mock trial transcripts online and I used to be an avid watcher of forensic shows (CSI, Bones, NCIS), though I still don't think I did it justice. There will be a lot of mistakes and for that I apologize, but this is fiction. Just suspend your belief, okay? Pretty please with a cherry on top?**

**Read the lyrics, they very much define the mood. Trust me. Actually, listen to the song "Whisper" by Evanescence while reading.**

* * *

><p><em>I'm frightened by what I see<em>

_But somehow I know_

_That there's much more to come_

_Immobilized by my fear_

_And soon to be blinded by tears_

_~ Whisper by Evanescence_

* * *

><p><strong>~ Coming Undone ~<strong>

* * *

><p>"Are you ready?" I asked as I fixed Damon's tie. What is it with guys and ties? They never seem to get it right. Though in Damon's case, he probably did it wrong on purpose, just to get me close.<p>

"As ready as I can be."

I offered a kiss as encouragement and he gladly took it. He took me by the arms, pulling me closer until we were practically glued to each other. If this was a dream, everything would already be over. Actually, none of this would have happened in the first place. We'd live happily ever after with a bunch of children on a large farm surrounded by a forest and wild, untamed life.

But this was reality, the one I knew as a cold-hearted bitch.

At first I didn't want to be with him in fear of getting him hurt. And yet he was, badly, but now was not the time to be giving up. We started this battle and we'd fight it to the very end. It's true that he got hurt because of me, because of _us,_ but he was also loved, respected, and cared for more than he ever was and would probably ever be if someone else had happened to be his master.

I hoped we'd get a good judge, one not in a friendly or money relationship with my parents. And even if we didn't, and the judge turned out to be a crooked imbecile, at least we'd have each other's backs. I couldn't fight this battle without him. We needed each other and we both knew it.

Damon looked at me, a smirk playing on his lips, looking very obviously fake. His defenses were up again, this time shielding _me_ from harm, hiding his true feelings as to not hurt mine, to spare me the pain of seeing him in the agony I was certain he was in. And that hurt more than anything. I gently stroked his cheek, placing a chaste kiss over it, and pulled him into a comforting hug.

"It will be over soon," I cooed, though not even I was so sure of that. One thing I did know, though, was that my parents would pay, one way or another. Of that I was certain.

Two months ago they put him in the hospital.

I hoped that two months from now they'll be rotting in jail where they belong.

Damon's eyes connected with mine again, showing genuine emotion. "What if it won't?"

Honestly, I didn't know. I wished I could tell him I would take care of it, but I couldn't. Giving him false hope would do more harm than good. So instead of replying I leaned into another kiss, my fingers coursing through his soft, fluffy hair that I loved so much. He wrapped his arms around my waist, slowly descending until he finally felt up my butt, and I jumped up, startled. As much as I wanted him, _all_ of him, this was not the time.

"Not now, Damon," I said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Then when?"

"When we get back."

"But it'll be ages from now. I can't wait that long," he whined, making a face that was so adorable and cute and sweet that the mere look at it almost made me give in to this cruel, dangerous temptation he bestowed upon me.

"You're making that face again."

He wiggled his eyebrows seductively. God, was he appealing in that suit; I just wanted to rip it off him, rid him of that unnecessary second skin that was fabric concealing his magnificent, almost godlike body. "What face?"

"The one you know I can't resist," I said, prompting him to chuckle ever so sweetly. "Now, come on. Elijah's probably waiting for us."

We shared one final kiss before leaving.

* * *

><p>I expected a lot from my parents. Really, I did. But never, not in my worst nightmares, would I have thought they'd hire Richard Lockwood as their lawyer. If wealth didn't bring them success in the case, then hiring the ex-mayor certainly would.<p>

Elijah was pretty confident, though. He kept saying we still had a chance even if my parents' lawyer happened to be more influential than them. If only Damon and I shared his enthusiasm.

The courtroom was completely full of people who obviously came just for the show. It was a rarity in a town such as Mystic Falls for a slave (and their master) to sue a free person for cruelty, and everyone was eager to see how it would all play out, anticipating the outcome like children in a candy shop.

They disgusted me, made me sick to my stomach. This was all a game for them; Damon's feelings, injuries, all suffering he's been through meant nothing as long as all was played well and there were enough rumors to spread. I could see Damon was boiling up inside as well and I took him by the hand, giving it a small, comforting squeeze.

Everyone was looking at us, obviously repulsed by our love, and I wanted to pin him against the wall right there and then just to give them something to gasp about since they obviously wanted to do just that.

_I love you,_ I wanted to say. Damon knew what I thought without me having to say a word and nodded, silently reciprocating. They were all probably jealous because the truth was, they would never have what we have. No one would ever have this passion, adventure, this poison that kept us bound together and tasted so good despite being dangerous as hell.

Most toxic relationships are bad. Ours, on the other hand, was one of the best this rotten world had to offer. We'd be stupid if we missed out this great chance of epic love because that's exactly what it was – epic on so many levels, consuming, wrong in so many ways that made it the rightest and most powerful love in the world.

These feelings snuck up on us and despite fighting them at first, we've grown to embrace them and haven't regretted a thing. I could never regret something as beautiful as this, something that made me this happy and gave my boring life a purpose, something that made my loved one's life worse yet so much better than it ever could have been.

"Silence," judge Tripp Cooke ordered and everyone did as told. He seemed like a no-nonsense kind of person, his expression stern, serious. His eyes darted over to Damon for a moment, showing disdain.

Great. Not even the judge supported us, and the trial hasn't even started yet.

"Your Honor," Elijah started after finally being given permission to speak, "the victim is Elena Gilbert, the accused's daughter."

It felt wrong to hear him refer to me as the victim, when we all knew it was Damon who bore that title. I was just an observer; a useless, helpless observer who tried to do her best and accomplished not nearly enough.

"The victim states that she and the accused got into an argument, and that her slave, Mr. Salvatore – present here – overheard and stepped in in fear for her safety. The argument escalated and Mr. Salvatore tried to protect the victim from the accused. The accused Mrs. Gilbert then restrained the victim whilst Mr. Gilbert assaulted Mr. Salvatore with a whip, resulting in heavy bodily harm. Mr. Salvatore supports this version of events."

Elijah took a short but confident breath before continuing.

"The victim reported property damage to Mystic Falls Sheriff's Department. Sheriff Elizabeth Forbes went to the accused's home the following day and questioned them about the damages done to the victim's property. The accused admitted to restraining the victim and using corporal punishment on Mr. Salvatore, but said it was a necessary act of discipline."

I barely suppressed a laugh. Seriously, how low were those people willing to sink? If _that_ was necessary, I didn't even want to know what they considered unnecessary.

"We are able to provide evidence against the accused, along with several witnesses willing to testify on my clients' behalf."

"Alright," Judge Cooke said in a bored tone, unconvinced of my parents' guilt. He was also known as one of the worst in town when it came to treatment of slaves. Some slave owners even flat-out refused to sell him their most disobedient slaves due to his bad reputation and even worse attitude, and that's saying something. "The defense may speak now."

"Those facts are admitted, Your Honor," Richard Lockwood said. "The day in question my clients got into an argument with their daughter. They heard suspicious noises coming from her bedroom and thought _Mr. Salvatore_ was hurting her. She admitted to being in a relationship with him, which my clients found inappropriate and tried to discourage her from. My clients claim _Mr. Salvatore_ was being disobedient and disrespectful towards them. My client, Mrs. Gilbert, admits to having restrained her daughter, though she states it was in order to help her husband punish _Mr. Salvatore_ accordingly, as Miss Gilbert was being difficult and refused to discipline _Mr. Salvatore_ properly for his offenses."

What offenses? They tried to justify it by saying my relationship with Damon would ruin my life and wanted him to suffer to get me away from him. There were no good intentions there, no offenses to be disciplined for; if anything, it was attempted murder of an innocent person whose only crime was being in love and loved by me.

"We have managed to get in contact with _Mr. Salvatore's_ previous owners and would like you to hear their testimonies to see just what kind of a man Miss Gilbert is standing up for," Lockwood finished. He spat the words _Mr. Salvatore_ as though they tasted of poison. To him he was just a slave, a piece of furniture easily broken and even more easily replaceable. People like him considered slaves expendable, lesser beings to be toyed with and abused for the smallest of mistakes.

Damon slightly, almost unnoticeably flinched. He didn't want to see those people again, hear their absurd accusations, remember the horrible things they've done to him.

"It will be okay," I whispered just loud enough for him to hear. He was seated next to me, our hands still linked, the squeezed getting tighter by the minute. He was afraid, and his fear made me scared, too. "You have me."

I just hoped I would be enough.

* * *

><p>"Exhibit A: Miss Gilbert's 911 call," Elijah announced.<p>

_"911, what is your emergency?"_

_"My boyfriend, he's… He's hurt really bad."_

_"Your address."_

_"2104 Maple Street."_

_"Okay, sweetness, I need you to calm down."_

_"I can't! I can't! I can't! Make it stop! Please, just make it stop! I'm losing him! I can't lose him! I…"_

_"Take a deep breath, honey. Let's talk about this. Maybe you can help him until the ambulance arrives."_

_"No! I… There's blood everywhere. He's… There is nothing I can do! Stay with me, Damon. Don't leave me like this. Please, don't."_

_"Damon? Is that his name?"_

_"Yes."_

_"He will be okay, honey. The ambulance will arrive any minute now."_

_"I can't wait any longer!"_

_"Is there a way for you to stop the bleeding?"_

_"No, he's hurt all over. There's so much blood… Damon, please, don't close your eyes. Stay with me; help is on the way. You need to be here, okay? They can't help you if you're…"_

_"E… lena…" _

I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears, begging for this nightmare to end. I remembered him being so vulnerable, as fragile as glass, broken in so many places I was afraid to touch him in fears of shattering him. I was so scared that I could barely breathe. The feeling was coming back, the anxiety and panic taking over me, suffocating me. I could literally picture hands in a firm grip around my neck and chest, holding me back, restraining me like a wild animal that's gotten out of control, and that only made everything worse.

I was in dire need of air.

I looked over to Damon, who didn't seem fazed in the slightest. His expression was stoic, emotionless, as cold as ice; his face looked to be made of hard, unbreakable marble, strong on the surface. I knew it was killing him on the inside just as much as it was killing me. If only I could embrace him, tell him how much I love him one more time and never let him go.

If only we were allowed a kiss in this wretched courtroom; I would've been content with one chaste kiss, just a small sign of comfort and reassurance. He needed it more than anything; or maybe I was the one who needed it, I wasn't sure. I just knew I craved that kiss like air and it was killing me to be so close to him, yet so far away from his irresistible lips.

_Love you,_ my eyes told him as they interlocked with his.

_Love you, too,_ his baby blues replied, and for a moment there I felt as though a huge amount of weight had been being lifted off my shoulders.

* * *

><p>Meredith Fell was the first to testify. She gave an oath to tell the truth and took her seat, glancing around the large courtroom. I could see fear in her eyes; it was obviously her first time as a witness and she didn't know how to act or what to expect.<p>

"Miss Fell, what condition was Mr. Salvatore in when he arrived to the hospital?" Elijah inquired.

"He was in near death condition. He was covered in open wounds and blood, and barely alive," Meredith replied.

"Exhibit B: photographs of Mr. Salvatore taken after his admission to Mystic Falls Hospital," Elijah said.

The projector showed dozens of photographs of Damon's injured torso, back, upper arms and legs, his split lip and cut cheek. He looked almost surreal, all bloody and cut, like an art project of some sick, twisted individual with disturbing interests in gore. I had to avert my eyes, prompting to bury my head into Damon's chest, squeezing his hand the hardest I could.

Damon still stood emotionless, like the sight of his own injuries didn't bother him in the slightest. Leaning against his chest, I could feel his heart beating fast and hard, a sign of concealed fear.

_We'll get through this,_ I kept telling myself despite not believing a word my mind spat at me. _We always do. It's all in the past. They can't hurt him anymore._

"Miss Fell, would you classify those injuries as life threatening?" Elijah asked.

Meredith nodded. "Yes, I would."

"So would you say this qualifies as property damage?"

"Objection!" Lockwood exclaimed just as the doctor was about to answer. "The witness is a doctor, not an employee of law."

"Sustained," the Judge agreed.

"No further questions, Your Honor."

"So Miss Fell," Lockwood said smugly, glad to finally take over. "Those injuries we've just now witnessed; based on your professional knowledge, what would you say was used to inflict them?"

"They appear to have been inflicted by a whip."

"A whip?" He looked around the room, for some reason satisfied with himself. I had a sudden urge to punch him in the nose and wipe that sleazy smile off his face, but that didn't sound like a good idea. I was presented as the victim here. If I was to punch the opposition's lawyer, the likelihood of us winning the case would be somewhere close to zero (not that it wasn't like that already). "Did everyone hear that? A whip. As in, an object used to discipline slaves all over the world. Thank you, Miss Fell. You've been of great _use."_

Fan-fucking-tastic. Not only was he a bigot; he was a misogynist, too. What made my parents think it was a good idea to hire this guy? Other than being friends with him, that is. Maybe it had something to do with the attitude; it was similar to theirs almost to a T.

You know what they say – bitches stick together. Or in this case, assholes.

* * *

><p>When Sheriff Forbes walked in, she looked so confident I felt she might burst. After all, being a sheriff granted her some advantage. She's probably been to more trials and gave more statements than I ever will.<p>

"Miss Gilbert and Mr. Salvatore gave their statements in the latter's hospital room a few hours after the incident occurred," she said.

"How would you describe his condition?" Elijah asked.

"He was obviously in a lot of pain."

"Did he say or do anything to indicate this kind of punishment was justifiable?"

"No, he did not."

"Was he being inappropriate with you or Miss Gilbert in any way?"

"No, he was not."

"Did he appear to be disobedient to Miss Gilbert's orders?"

The Sheriff looked at me for a second before saying: "He did not receive an order or any kind."

"Did he try to force himself on Miss Gilbert?" Elijah continued.

"No, he did not. As far as I could see, they seemed to be in a consensual relationship."

"Did he threaten or mistreat Miss Gilbert in your presence?"

"No, he did not."

"Did Miss Gilbert have any complaints regarding Mr. Salvatore's services?"

"No, she did not."

"Did she appear frightened by his presence?"

"No, she did not."

"What condition was Miss Gilbert in when you arrived?"

"She was worried." The sheriff took a long, deep breath. "She wanted to know if Mr. Salvatore could be taken from her."

"Thank you, Ms. Forbes," Elijah said with a slight bow.

"The witness is yours, Mr. Lockwood," Judge Cooke said.

"Ms. Forbes, your daughter is friends with Miss Gilbert, right?" Lockwood asked with a sly smile.

The sheriff nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "I don't see how that's relevant."

"Oh, but it is. I hear you and your daughter have a troubled relationship. Am I right? I bet you'd do anything your little girl asks for a little bit of peace in your home. Even lie in court."

"Objection!" Elijah shouted.

"Sustained," the judge said. "Mr. Lockwood, refrain yourself from accusations."

"My apologies, Your Honor. No further questions."

Like I said, he was an asshole; a big, lying, dirty, misogynist, bullying asshole with no redeeming qualities.

* * *

><p>There was a few days break before the hearing continued. Damon had trouble sleeping; tossing and turning, his condition worsening every night. His eyes would always be closed and his face rid of emotions, but I knew him enough to know that he was hurting inside, trying to protect me and wounding himself even more in the process.<p>

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," I said that particular morning before the latest hearing. "It's okay to feel." My arms were wrapped around him in a protective manner; I did that every night in hopes of getting him to feel safe and opening up to me. Unfortunately, my comfort wasn't enough. He was dreading seeing his previous owners, especially the one by the name of Katherine. "Show me, Damon."

He turned to me, his face a bit puffy, eyes red from tears he held back. I stroked his burning cheek and placed a kiss to it, short and sweet, encouraging him to let everything go, to be himself in these awful times. I've seen the worst and best of him, been familiar with both his vicious and tender side, knew everything there was to know about this beautiful man. I would never judge him, he knew that.

So he finally let it go.

He let a tear fall and I was quick to wipe it away with my thumb before kissing him once again, this time on the lips. "They can't hurt you anymore," I whispered tenderly, intertwining fingers with his. "I won't let them."

"Let's get dressed, Elena," he said curtly, ruining our little bonding moment, as he got out of bed. "The hearing starts in an hour."

Who was he trying to fool with that bad guy attitude? Because _I_ knew it was just a mask.

* * *

><p>"Caroline Forbes."<p>

The girl in question entered, her usual perky, happy-go-lucky attitude showing. She practically jumped to the witness stand in a way no one but her could, and shot me a short, but meaningful glance accompanied by a small smile. I probably would've gotten a thumbs up as well had this not happened to be a courtroom full of no-nonsense, old-school people who would probably find a way to use that small gesture to throw my case out the window and rule in my parents' favor.

"Miss Forbes, what is your relationship with Miss Gilbert?" Elijah asked.

"She's my friend. My _best_ friend," Caroline replied happily.

"How would you describe her relationship with Mr. Salvatore?"

"I haven't seen them together enough to know all details, but from what I've _witnessed," _she gave a small giggle at the word _witnessed_, proud of herself to use such formal vocabulary she probably had her mom teach her, "they are very much in love. Passionate, devoted to each other. You know what I think? Half the people at school are jealous of what they have, even if they won't admit it. For obvious reasons, you know?"

I smiled at the comment. So typical of her to bring up the teenage stuff we'd usually discuss at sleepovers. For a moment there I missed those times; that happy, worry-free life, the innocent gossips, the time when our biggest, most important topic was how Chad from History asked out Kayla from Biology, who had really ugly horse teeth and a monobrow, and no one could figure out what the hell was wrong with that gorgeous guy to ask out such a hag.

Then I remembered I hadn't known Damon back then and suddenly all nostalgia vanished, replaced by guilt for even thinking of a time when I haven't had him in my life. Because now I couldn't imagine living without him. He was my everything. My life would make no sense without him in it; it'd lose all meaning if I was to lose him.

"What is your opinion of Mr. Salvatore?" Elijah asked.

Caroline thought for a moment. "My opinion of him? Hmm… Snarky, sarcastic, a little bit flirty. "

"Would you describe him as a disobedient slave to Miss Gilbert?"

"God, no," she laughed. "I mean, he is a bit on the wild side, but they don't have the usual slave-master relationship."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"She always treated him as her equal."

"Do you know Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert?"

"Of course I know Elena's parents!" Caroline chirped.

"How would you describe Miss Gilbert's relationship with them?"

"They mostly tolerated one another. Elena always used to say they didn't understand her."

Elijah's brow furrowed. "In what way?"

"They knew she was against slavery, but always tried to force her into getting a slave."

"Were they ever abusive to Miss Gilbert?"

"Not that I know of."

"You said Miss Gilbert was not a supporter of slavery. Would you say Mr. Salvatore was unwanted?"

"In a way. Elena said she kept him because they threatened to take him for themselves or give him to her brother."

"Why would she make such a decision?"

"Objection!" Lockwood snarled. "The witness isn't a member of the Gilbert family and wasn't present during the events."

"Your Honor, as my client's close friend, Miss Forbes may be able to provide valuable information related to our case," Elijah argued.

"Overruled," Judge Cooke said before tuning to Caroline. "Answer the question, Miss Forbes."

"Her parents mistreat their slaves _all _the time."

"Were you ever present during such an event?"

"Once. Mrs. Gilbert's slave tripped and broke a plate, and received severe whipping." My blonde friend cringed at the memory, eager to get it out of her pretty little head as soon as possible. She wasn't a fan of violence, especially against those who least deserved it. It was one of the reasons I was friends with her. We were so different, yet had so much in common that it would be weird if we weren't friends.

"And Miss Gilbert's brother?"

"He's… irresponsible. He owned a few slaves and got them all in some kind of trouble, so, according to Elena, their parents deny him any more until he turns eighteen," Caroline explained.

"Thank you, Miss Forbes."

"Mr. Lockwood?" the Judge inquired, prompting my parents' lawyer to smirk.

"No questions, Your Honor."

* * *

><p>"How do you know Miss Gilbert?" Elijah asked.<p>

Matt gulped; he couldn't have looked more uncomfortable if he tried. He was always on the awkward side, very cute, adorkable even, a dream boy of every girl but me. Him being a quarterback and expressing a desire to enroll into police academy didn't help matters. I knew most girls (and maybe even some boys) in our school imagined him in that sexy police uniform and fantasized about ripping it off his muscled body.

Just like I fantasized about Damon. Come to think of it, he wouldn't look half bad in a police uniform, and even better without it. I let a small, almost unnoticeable smile creep onto my lips. I would have to suggest Damon we try that sometime. We could easily find some police uniforms on eBay and order many at once, all for me to rip apart and him to enjoy that wild side of me for I knew he liked to unleash that untamable beast and be at its mercy.

"We grew up together," Matt responded.

"Were you ever involved with her in a romantic relationship?" Elijah asked, and Matt swallowed; it was a question he wouldn't like to provide an answer to, but he _had_ given an oath.

Despite seeing me as only a friend now, I knew Matt missed the past; our past, our little adventure that I was never into to begin with while he wanted it to last forever. It lasted for only a little over a month, but he got attached and it was hard for him to hear me say we're over, listen to my explanation that I couldn't see him as anything other than a friend in my sweetest, most considerable tone of voice that I always used when I didn't want to hurt someone's feelings.

"Yes, I was," he finally replied.

"How would you describe Miss Gilbert? Was she dominant? Submissive? Abusive?"

"None of that. She was kind. Our relationship was short lived, but we were always equals."

"Did Miss Gilbert ever confide in you about her opinions regarding slavery?"

"She claimed to be against it."

"Have you ever met Mr. Salvatore?"

"A few times, briefly. He was with Elena at the Grill, where I work."

"How would you describe him?"

"I can't answer that question as I don't know him."

"Alright. Would you say he makes Miss Gilbert happy?"

"I guess. She said she was in love with him and seemed really happy to be with him."

"So you can't attest to the claims of his disobedience?"

"No."

"Alright. Thank you, Mr. Donovan."

"Mr. Donovan," Lockwood said as he took over, and I felt a shiver creep down my spine. The sound of that man's voice made me extremely uncomfortable. "Would you say _Mr. Salvatore_ was deserving of such punishment?" He pointed to pictures of Damon's injuries that were once again, for reasons unknown to me, shown, and I tried to look everywhere but at them as every single one of them brought back memories that I wished I could bury into the deepest corners of my brain and never dig them up again.

"No, I wouldn't."

"Can you think of an instance in which this kind of discipline would be necessary?"

"No, I cannot."

Lockwood smiled smugly, like a predator hunting its prey. "Is it true that your family owns no slaves?"

"Yes, that is true," Matt replied after taking a deep breath.

"Then how would you know the right amount of discipline required to get a slave in line if you never owned one?"

"I guess I'm a human being capable of empathy," Matt responded curtly.

"No further questions," Lockwood said, red in the face at being embarrassed and chastised by, of all people, a middle-class teenage boy.

I gave a slight, quiet chuckle. Matt really hit a nerve, hasn't he?

* * *

><p>The case gathered quite an attention from the media, but Elijah made sure Damon and I stayed out of sight, often rejecting questions and comments on our behalf. Damon once told me he considered telling them all to fuck off, but I advised against it. The point of this was to make my parents out to be villains. If we started throwing insults and curses left and right, our victimhood would be rightfully questioned.<p>

By far the pushiest, most obnoxious one was Logan Fell, a distant cousin of Meredith, it seemed. He always tried to get us to talk against our will, pushed his way through crowds of people just to shove his filthy microphone into our faces, and asked the most uncomfortable and inappropriate of questions. Thankfully, Elijah had an answer to everything thrown at us, and at least we knew we had something going in our favor, someone there to support and protect us from the goodness of his heart (and the money he'd get off us, but that was a whole different story).

Today it was Bonnie's turn to take a stand and she did so with dignity. She was known as the proud one, never afraid of anything, always telling the truth and truth only, never once stumbling. She was confident, her mere presence giving me hope. Damon had his doubts, though. Bonnie always looked at him funny, frowned at his flirty comments and very obviously found them to be distasteful. He feared she might let something slip, but I was quick to assure him everything would be alright.

I trusted Bonnie. She'd never put an innocent person in danger, even if she disliked them. She was my friend just as I was hers; she wouldn't, not willingly, harm the one person she knew was finally making me happy.

"Miss Bennett," Elijah started, his tone professional as usual, "what is your relationship with Miss Gilbert?"

"She's my friend," Bonnie replied straight away.

"And Mr. Salvatore?"

"He's Elena's boyfriend."

"Would you describe Mr. Salvatore as a disobedient slave?"

"I've never seen them as anything more than just a normal couple, so I wouldn't know anything of his… _behavior_ as her slave," she admitted.

"And what is his behavior like?"

Bonnie frowned for a moment, thinking of her next move. "He likes to have fun," she finally said. "Likes to push people's buttons, tell inappropriate jokes, is very sarcastic."

"Did you ever feel uncomfortable in his company?"

"I've only met him a few times, but no. Never."

"What about Miss Gilbert's parents? Have you ever met them?"

"Of course."

"How would you describe their relationship with their daughter?"

"Unstable."

"Why would you use that word?"

"They argue a lot. Elena used to stay over at my or Caroline's place for days after their arguments."

"Used to?" Elijah inquired, picking up on the use of past tense.

"She stopped after getting Damon."

"Did she ever say why?"

"She didn't want him alone with them."

"Would you say she feared for his safety?"

"Yes," she said truthfully.

"Thank you, Miss Bennett."

"Mr. Lockwood?" Judge Cooke said, prompting said lawyer to stand up. He walked over to Bonnie, looking her directly in the eye as if to intimidate her, but she wouldn't budge. If he wanted to frighten her, he'd have to do a lot better than that. She stood up to worse people at school and survived; a petty man such as him could never measure to meanness and cruelty of gossipy teenage girls.

I know from experience.

"Miss Bennett, you said, and I quote, _Mr. Salvatore_ 'likes to push people's buttons, tell inappropriate jokes, is very sarcastic'. Would you care to elaborate?"

"On what?" she asked sharply.

"How does _Mr. Salvatore_ push people's buttons?" Lockwood clarified.

"He likes to challenge people, dare them… He uses sarcasm as a weapon."

_Don't go there, _my mind instantly screamed.

Maybe I should've listened to Damon. Asking her to testify was a bad idea. She may have meant well, but she was digging us deeper with each word that came out of her mouth. If this went on, we're gone, deader than dead.

_Stop while you still can, Bonnie._

I could feel Damon getting tense through our linked arms, probably cursing me for talking him into allowing Bonnie to be listed as a witness, and I just wanted to hug him. Damn him and his charm; even in times of distress, he had this intoxicating effect on me.

_Calm down, Elena. It's just the withdrawal talking._

The truth is, ever since this trial begun a few weeks ago, we haven't had sex. We'd tease each other, share kisses and hugs, touches too private to be shown in public, but none of it led to the thing I wanted most. And it was driving me close to insanity. Damon was under too much pressure to relax, his condition worsening each day, and while he allowed me to have some fun, he wasn't in the mood to go all the way.

I didn't judge him; I could never judge someone in his position. So I didn't insist. He'll let me know when he's ready in his own, very special way, and I will love and cherish that moment more than anything. For now I'll just have to wait. A little bit of impatience never killed anyone.

"And the inappropriate jokes?" Lockwood insisted, feeling quite content with himself. _Bastard._

"Just innocent fun," Bonnie said, realizing she'd already done enough damage, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. _There's still hope._

"Was _Mr. Salvatore_ ever inappropriate to you?"

"No."

"Let's go back to him pushing people's buttons. Do you think that that _ability_ of his could get him in trouble with Miss Gilbert's parents?"

"I guess everything's possible," Bonnie said, shrugging.

"So you think their actions were justified?"

"No, I do not."

"But you just said-"

"That it was possible," she cut him off sternly. "Not that he deserved it. Don't put words in my mouth, Mr. Lockwood. I don't like to be patronized."

I smiled. _That's my girl!_

"That would be all, Your Honor," Lockwood snapped, clearly pissed. First Matt, and now Bonnie. That man had horrible luck with teenagers, especially those who happened to be my friends. Serves him right for being a first-class jerkass.

Bonnie gave me small thumbs up on her way out and I waved at her, grinning from ear to ear. "See?" I whispered to Damon, squeezing his slightly trembling hand. "Everything will be alright."

He just smirked, and that small reminder of the man I fell for was enough for joy to overcome me. His usual, signature Damon smirk was back, as genuine as it used to be, and I could barely suppress a fit of relieved laughter.

* * *

><p><strong>Please, review and make the end of this terrible year a bit better for me. And remember to suspend your belief for court procedures. Next chapter finally brings Katherine into the story.<br>**

**This is it for this year. See you in 2015! Happy New Year!**


	13. Pretty Little Liars

**Thank you all for everything (reviews, follows, favorites, every single word and display of kindness)! I never expected this story to have such a large following! You guys definitely made my terrible 2014 much better.**

**Someone asked me what my language is. To answer your question – it's Croatian.**

**Did you guys notice that in every episode Damon happens to be in pain? I recently started paying attention to that and it's true. Every single episode has him get hurt in some way, be it torture, witchy migraine, snapped neck, vervain… The guy's got bad luck.**

**We find a bit more about Damon's backstory in this and the few following chapters.**

**Yup, this chapter's title is a reference to the show Pretty Little Liars. I love that show!**

**Shameless self-promotion: I published a Delena oneshot called "Love Bites". If you're into kinky vampire romance thing, I suggest you give it a shot.**

**A small note: ****according to the Vampire Diaries Wikia, Pearl's last name is Zhu, so I went with that.**

* * *

><p><em>Did you think we'd be fine?<em>

_Still got scars on my back from your knife_

_So don't think it's in the past_

_These kinda wounds, they last and they last_

_~ Bad Blood by Taylor Swift_

* * *

><p><strong>~ Pretty Little Liars ~<strong>

* * *

><p>The two-week break before the hearing continued seemed to last forever. Both Damon and I were going insane. It was like there was a competition between us of who would lose their sanity first and he appeared to be winning. All our witnesses have given their statements, and it was time for my parents' defense team to work their magic.<p>

I fixed Damon's tie that day just like I did every time he wore that suit I couldn't wait to rip to pieces once this is all over. We were standing dangerously close, our noses rubbing, lips almost touching. I pulled him into a hug once I was done, a hug he reluctantly reciprocated. I couldn't blame him. This was all taking a toll on him, all this stress and panic reducing him to a shell of a man he once was.

Sure, he still snarked like crazy, spat double entendres every chance he got, smirked and did that adorable eyebrow thing whenever he felt was necessary, but it didn't feel the same. This wasn't _my_ Damon. Everything he did, all those little quirks I've gotten used to, it was all for my sake. He was like a robot, repeating every action, his every move learned and perfected, and all that to spare me the pain of seeing him suffer.

It was killing me. I wanted him back, all of him, all the unique qualities that made him _him,_ but not for myself. I wanted him back for _him._

As it turned out, Isobel was today's witness. She gracefully walked in, clad in nice clothes that my parents only got her for this very event, her high heels clicking as she swaggered. No surprise there that my parents would have their slaves testify on their behalf.

_"Miss Flemming,_ would you say your masters are treating you cruelly?" Lockwood inquired. Once again, he spat the _Miss Flemming_ part just like he did all those times he called Damon _Mister Salvatore._ After all, slaves deserved no dignity, no respectful titles.

"Not at all," Isobel very obviously lied, flinching uncomfortably. Made me wonder how many lashes she was threatened with if she didn't say that? Probably something like two hundred. "They are very kind."

"What about other slaves? Have they ever been cruel to anyone else?"

"Not that I know of."

"How would you describe _Mr. Salvatore?"_

"He was a lazy slave, rarely ever did as told. He frequently caused trouble and received no punishment. If I may, I'd like to say Miss Gilbert's lack of discipline is to blame."

"You're saying Miss Gilbert never disciplined him?"

Isobel nodded. "He got away with things he shouldn't have gotten away with."

"Such as?"

"Directly refusing his mistress' orders, challenging her, being downright disrespectful towards her. Theft."

Lies. All lies. Okay, so maybe there was some truth to her words, but it was me who let him do it. I was the one who decided to treat him as a friend, as my equal. What business was it of Isobel's or my parents' how I treated my slave? No matter how wrong it sounded, he was _mine._ They had no right to get involved, none of them did.

Lockwood raised an eyebrow. "Theft?"

"It was twice, if I recall correctly, that he was caught stealing from my master, Mr. Gilbert."

"And he was never disciplined?"

"He was," Isobel replied. "Mr. Gilbert made sure of that, but Miss Gilbert always defended him."

My parents beamed, their smiles radiating with joy, satisfied to finally be backed up.

"How was _Mr. Salvatore_ disciplined?"

"With a whip."

"Would you say it was disproportionate for his misdeeds?"

"No. He was deserving of his punishments."

"How did Miss Gilbert react to that?"

"She was mad. She argued with my masters, threatened to sue them."

"That would be all," Lockwood said curtly.

What, no _thank you_ to the witness this time? Jerkass.

"Mr. Mikaelson?" the judge asked, and Elijah shook his head.

"No questions, Your Honor."

* * *

><p>"Why did I ever let you talk me into this?" Damon asked me during a five-minute break.<p>

_Because you love me,_ I wanted to say, but instead I replied: "We still have a chance. Right?" I looked over to Elijah, who nodded.

"Why am I not convinced?" Damon questioned. Great. Not only was he depressed and deprived me of sex, but he was getting snappy, too.

"Just trust me, Damon," I said, softly touching his shoulder.

He looked at my hand, then his eyes wandered to my lips, and then to my eyes. He leaned over, kissing me gently at first, getting rougher each second until we found ourselves pressed against the wall in a make-out session I dreamt of for days. He had me pinned, strong arms holding me in place and, just as I did every time we did this, I let him lead, let him be in charge.

And lead he did.

People around us watched, gasping, startled and baffled at the genuine and passionate display of affection rarely seen between a master and their slave. Chatter was heard, gossips and rumors passed around like disease. Everyone's eyes were on us, and for some reason that only seemed to raise the sexual tension up to eleven.

We wanted to do it right then and there, before everyone's curious eyes, show their judging glares and empty stares just how very much in love we were and how confident we were of us, of our relationship. Jealousy, that's what it was. They'd never have something this wonderful, powerful, something full of magic only we knew how to control and bend to our every whim.

"I hate to interrupt, but the break appears to be over," Elijah said, clearing his throat.

Damon and I reluctantly parted, gasping for air. The heat was still there, clinging to our skin, magnetism that pulled us together getting harder to resist.

"I take it you trust me," I panted as we found our way back to the courtroom.

Damon wore a big smile on his face and I knew I was in for a perfect surprise when we return home, surprise I was waiting for all this time. "You're walking a thin line there, Elena," he warned in mock threat.

"What are you gonna do? Dirty-talk me to death?" I challenged.

"I happen to be very good at talking dirty."

I chuckled, playfully punching his shoulder. _Don't I know it?_

* * *

><p>"Mr. Salvatore," Lockwood said, his eyes glued to a man in his mid-fifties whom I already despised without even hearing a word out of his foul mouth, "what can you tell us about… <em>Mr. Salvatore?"<em>

"That boy was nothing but trouble," Giuseppe spat, his words seething with venom.

I could see the look of absolute horror on Damon's face and I discretely took his hand, offering the slightest bit of comfort. He nodded at me, muttering a small: "Thank you," and I shook my head in response. No gratitude was needed; his love and trust was enough. _He_ was enough.

"Lazy, rebellious, reckless," Giuseppe continued. "He never did as told. He had an objection to everything, questioned every order."

"From what we gathered, it was you who fathered him."

"He is no son of mine!" the man snapped.

Damon slightly tensed, prompting me to tighten my hold on his hand. _It will be alright,_ my eyes said as they connected to his. _They're just words._ I knew that wasn't true; words sometimes hurt more than physical pain, and to hear his own father speak that way of him must have been hell for Damon.

That man was a sick, disturbed individual. I was mostly against death penalty, but people like him deserved it; they deserved to burn in hell for what they've done, for every insult, every punishment they inflicted upon the innocent individuals who happened to be unfortunate enough to be stuck with them, such as my boyfriend had once upon a time.

"How would you describe your relationship with him?" Lockwood demanded.

"There was no relationship of any kind," Giuseppe replied. "He was a disappointment! That boy deserved every whipping he received!"

Damon twitched, painful memories starting to resurface, and I slowly pulled him closer to me, doing my best to be as discreet as possible to avoid curious glances. The physical wounds may have healed, but scars and psychological horror were still there, ripping him apart, tearing at his insides, breaking his already broken heart into thousands of pieces I prayed to gods I'll be able to put back together.

I remembered him saying some of his past masters tried to break him and nearly succeeded. There was no doubt in my mind Giuseppe was one of them, if not the very first, the beginning of a nightmare that was most of Damon's life. It was kind of ironic how the ones who did break him in the end happened to be my parents, his owner's family, people who had no right to touch him without my explicit permission which they knew they'd never get.

That didn't stop them from trying and eventually succeeding.

"So you can verify the claims he was deserving of punishments such as this one?" Lockwood asked, once again showing those disturbing pictures I couldn't bring myself to look at, instead resolving to burying my head into Damon's shirt. I breathed in his scent, that expensive cologne I always bought him because I knew how much he loved to dose himself in it. I had a whole stash of it hidden under our bed, right next to his bourbon, as he always used it all in such short notice.

Not that I minded. I loved the way he smelled; it suited him well, brought out some of his best qualities that I've grown to love over these last few months we've been living and sleeping together. It was Damon scent, and everything Damon was good. No, everything Damon was the best of the best and could never, ever compare to anything that wasn't him.

He was, in one word, irreplaceable. And having him all to myself made me the happiest and luckiest girl in the world.

"More than deserving," Giuseppe replied. "That boy is trouble." He looked over to me, disgusted at how close to my boyfriend I was, how I held him as though my life depended on it, comforted and nurtured hidden fears he was too proud to let rise to the surface. "I advise you to stay away from him, girl. You still have time to save yourself form the nightmare that is life with the likes of him. God knows he'll bring you nothing but pain and suffering."

Maybe it was worth it. All the pain, suffering, that dreadful feeling of helplessness… If it would help Damon, I was all for it. I would sacrifice everything for him just as he would for me. We were bound to be together. There had to have been some kind of star alignment, destiny, or whatever you want to call it that brought us together to protect each other, save each other, keep each other from harm.

It was love that connected us, an emotion known as one of the most powerful in the world. As long as we loved each other, we would be free in our own little fantasies. Fuck everyone else, fuck my parents and Damon's father; they were all just pawns, a bunch of idiots who obviously had no idea what love is because if they had, they'd have at least some decency to leave us alone.

"Objection, Your Honor!" Elijah complained. "The defense's witness cannot interact with the victim."

"Sustained," the Judge declared.

"How long was Mr. Salvatore in your possession?" Lockwood growled, glaring at the witness.

"Until he turned fifteen. That is when I sold his brother and him as I deemed them old enough to do their duties as slaves, and partly because I couldn't wait to get rid of this useless boy who still, even after all these years, can't seem to stay out of trouble," Giuseppe snarled. "He has always been a difficult one. No matter how hard I punished him, he still pushed me to my limits, dared me to pull the whip out and leave him in blood just so he could avoid his duties until I felt he was well enough to return to work. I couldn't compromise my reputation by keeping him; it was already compromised as it was due to his refusal to follow simple orders and obey simple rules."

_Maybe if you've been kinder, he would've obeyed,_ I thought. If only I was allowed to say it out loud. Damon was, indeed, a difficult individual. It was hard to earn his trust and even harder to keep it. All that poor excuse for a father had to do was try harder and be supportive and respectful. Nothing else. I learned that lesson the hard way.

"No further questions," Lockwood said with a final bow.

The judge looked over to Elijah, who shook his head, and just like that Giuseppe was allowed to leave.

* * *

><p>Their next witness was a woman by the name of Pearl Zhu. She was an Asian lady who appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, her mere presence radiating with elegance and class. Her smile was warm, almost friendly, and she had this exotic, untamed beauty to her, though it was obvious, at least to me, that that was just the outside.<p>

I had no doubt in my mind that she was rotten to the core. My parents wouldn't have had her as their witness had that not been the case.

Damon tensed once again, this time allowing emotions to show on his face, expressing obvious discomfort at that woman's presence. He did _not_ want her here, that I was certain of. Whatever their story was, I didn't want to hear it; not if this was how he reacted to her, not if she scared him so much I could feel his hand shaking in mine, his heartbeat reaching an almost unnatural pace.

But I would hear it, whether I wanted to or not. Lockwood would surely do his best to get the dirtiest of details out in the open, use every chance he gets to make Damon look bad just to make him squirm, humiliate him for pure sadistic pleasure because he's that cruel.

"Ms. Zhu, it has come to our knowledge that you used to be in possession of _Mr. Salvatore,"_ Lockwood stated.

Pearl shot a short, but meaningful glance at Damon. Her smile widened and eyebrows raised in an almost seductive way, provoking him, testing him, daring him to react. I just wanted to grab that dark hair of hers (that couldn't even compare to mine, which was much prettier and softer, a few shades lighter; hair that Damon liked to run his fingers through in our hottest of moments, which I doubted he'd ever done to her, at least willingly) and yank it really, really hard, and scream loud and clear in her ear that he's mine now and she can't have him.

My jealous side rarely came to surface and I was beginning to fear what I might do if provoked. Damon clearly didn't like this lady so I had nothing to fear, nothing to be jealous of, but still, I couldn't help it. There was a little bit of anger added to the mix; Damon didn't dislike people without a really good reason and that fact alone was enough for me to despise her.

"That would be true," Pearl replied. Even her voice was classy, respective of a lady she was.

"How would you describe _Mr. Salvatore?"_

"Complicated, daring," she purred, every now and then sneaking a tiny glance in Damon's direction, her eyes smiling at him, mocking him. "Difficult to tame."

Lockwood smiled smugly; that's exactly what he wanted to hear. "So did you, Ms. Zhu? Tame him?"

"Eventually," she admitted, "but it certainly took a while. He was a challenge, I'll tell you that. But I played the game and I won."

Damon shuddered at the sudden rush of memories and I felt tears well up in my eyes. I wanted to comfort him, help him in some way, make him forget all the horrors he'd lived through, but I couldn't, and it was killing me to see him in so much pain. His suffering made me suffer, made my heart ache in the worst possible ways.

I hated that feeling of helplessness. It was the worst thing in the world to watch a loved one suffer and not being able to do anything about it, not being in a position to make it go away no matter how hard you wanted to.

"And how did you _tame_ him?" Lockwood inquired, interested, looking over to Damon and me from the corner of his eye, that mocking smile still plastered over his face.

"I had a variety of… _toys_ at my disposal," Pearl said, slightly chuckling at the memory, "but I mostly used whips and chains. Shackles at times, but it was rare."

I didn't like where this was going, and judging by the look on his face, Damon didn't either. I squeezed his hand until both of our knuckles turned white from the pressure. He was pale, all color drained from his face, his heart racing, ready to burst. He'd reached the boiling point and was an inch away from bursting.

"Please," I whispered as quietly as I could, receiving a warning look from Elijah to stay silent. "Don't."

Damon took a breath, his eyes connecting with mine for a moment, and calmed down, for once obeying. I sighed in relief, releasing his hand, instead wrapping my arm around his. I knew this was hard for him, but he had to stay in control. Exploding at that ex-owner of his would do us no good.

Though I could see why he'd want to bash her head in; there was something about her that brought out the worst, darkest parts of me, tempting me to do terrible things I doubted were legal – and not the good kind of terrible things that Damon and I loved to practice in the privacy of our bedroom, and pretty much every other room in the lake house.

"So you could say he was disobedient?"

"Definitely," Pearl agreed. "But I had my ways of handling him, if you know what I mean."

Lockwood smirked. "Care to elaborate?"

"Let's just say I know how to get what I want."

"Were you and _Mr. Salvatore_ involved in a romantic relationship?"

"You could say that." Pearl chuckled. "He was quite a ride! The best I ever had."

_Oh, my god._

I remembered Damon saying sex with Katherine was his first consensual one, and suddenly his words made a whole lot more sense. This woman tortured him, raped him, had him in ways he clearly didn't want her to, and still, she had the audacity to brag about it, put him down in a room full of people who already hated him as it was, for his only sin was being born a slave.

_I'm so sorry, _I wanted to say. He averted his eyes, refusing to look at me, ashamed of his past, ashamed of everything that was done to him that he had no control over.

The projector had shown those pictures again, and I barely suppressed the urge to scream, to demand that they be taken down. Why did they have to show them all over again, each and every day, to almost every witness? Wasn't seeing them once enough for everybody? Because for me it was, and for Damon, and for Elijah (though I could rarely read Elijah with his constantly stoic expression so I couldn't be exactly sure, but as our lawyer, I choseto believe he was on our side and shared our opinions on everything).

"With time I grew bored of him," Pearl continued. "I was tired of his games, tired of constant disobedience and challenges. No matter what I did, I couldn't break him, so I sold him to my friend's father. Her birthday was nearing and her father had wanted to surprise her."

"That friend is Miss Katerina Petrova, correct?"

"Yes, that is correct," Pearl confirmed with a nod.

This was getting better and better. Just when you think it can't get any worse than it already is, life, karma, universe, or whatever that nasty bitch in charge of our destinies is makes sure you regret it and throws the worst in your face just to mock you and laugh at your sorrow.

"Thank you, Ms. Zhu," Lockwood said too politely even for him.

Damon and I exchanged a glance. The real nightmare was about to begin and neither of us liked it. Not one bit.

* * *

><p>"Damon, wait! Please!" I begged, running after him.<p>

He stormed off into the bathroom during the short break before Katherine's testimony, shaken, on the edge of tears, overwhelmed by despair. I couldn't let him deal with this alone. He, too, knew he needed me. If only he wasn't so damn proud and stubborn to admit it.

"Leave me alone, Elena," he said sharply.

He stood by the sink, his eyes glued to the mirror, letting out long, painful breaths. I gently touched his arm and he jumped in surprise, recoiling from me, the look in his eyes deadly, warning me to stay away. But I couldn't. He'd never hurt me, never lay a hand on me. It was just a show to push me away, another one of his many games that I wasn't in the mood to play.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I said on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry for everything she did to you."

"I don't want your pity!" he snapped.

"It's not pity, Damon. It's compassion. You didn't deserve any of that. That woman… She's a monster."

"Stop defending me!" he shouted.

Great. Not only was he pushing me away; he was also blaming himself? The term _Stockholm Syndrome_ suddenly took on a whole different meaning.

"You did nothing wrong," I argued.

"I did _everything _wrong! That's why this happened." He pointed to some scars he revealed as he unbuttoned his shirt in demonstration that was apparently supposed to make me hate him and blame him as much as he blamed himself. "That's why all of _this, _all this mess we're in is happening. I did it! It's my fault! I put you in a position where you had to choose between your own family and me, and you made the wrong choice!"

"What is with you all of a sudden?" I demanded.

"What is with _you?" _he countered.

"You're letting Pearl get in your head," I realized. "Don't do this, Damon. Don't let her control you. She can't hurt you anymore. You're _mine_ now."

He knew the true meaning behind my words that would seem pretty patronizing, maybe even offensive to an outsider – hell, even he would have found it offensive have I said that at the very beginning of our long and painful journey – and just took a small breath, allowing me to continue my speech that was far from over.

"We talked about this. _You _are my family and I stand by it. I couldn't have made a better choice."

He let me touch his cheek and press a kiss to it, softening to my touch. I always knew how to get through to him. All he needed was reassurance, comfort, and love, basic needs common to all human beings.

Did he seriously think I was going to give up on him after all this time, after everything we've been through? He should have known me better. I knew what I was getting into from the start and never once have I thought of giving up.

"I'm not perfect boyfriend material, Elena," he suddenly said, prompting me to smile.

"I'm not perfect girlfriend material, either," I said, leaning into a kiss. None of us is perfect; it's only normal to make mistakes. We're human. As long as we're together, we can do everything. We can work together to be better people, a better couple (if that's even possible seeing as how perfect we already are).

I was already dreading Katherine's arrival, but it had to be done. After this Pearl incident, I couldn't imagine what Damon will be like after Katherine. But I was ready, already mentally preparing myself for the worst.

I was almost ninety percent sure I could tame the beast inside of him that that bitch would surely bring out.

And I was up to the challenge.

* * *

><p>"Katerina Petrova to the stand."<p>

Damon shook slightly at the mention of her name and I was quick to take his hand back in mine. It was a small ritual we did, proof by me that I was there for him, and proof by him that he wanted me to be there. It was a win-win for the both of us, more so that we didn't have to utter a word. Touch was just enough.

I couldn't believe my eyes when Katherine walked in in all her glory. When Damon said she looked a lot like me, I was thinking more along the lines of same hair and eye color, but now everything's become much clearer. She really did resemble me. Same eyes, same face, same smile (only hers was much deadlier than mine), same shade of brown that was our hair, though while mine was straight and dull, hers was curled and pretty, glamorous even.

"Miss Petrova, is it true that you used to be in possession of _Mr. Salvatore?"_ Lockwood questioned.

Katherine nodded. "He was my slave for a while, yes," she said.

God, even her voice was like mine. I could see why Damon initially refused to give me even the benefit of the doubt. That girl was almost my exact copy! The look on her face was that of honesty, though I could see there was something evil and vicious beneath the surface that she was trying to hide, an attempt I've become accustomed to due to Damon doing it countless of times. Whilst he was playing bad boy, she was pretending to be a good girl, innocent and untarnished.

And it seemed to be working.

"How would you describe your relationship with him?"

"Everything was fine, at first. I wanted to be his friend, so I gave him freedom most slaves don't have. He was allowed to come and go as he pleased as long as he did what he was told, and for a while things were going well. He was nice, a real charmer. A bit disobedient at first, but we've sorted out our differences rather quickly. I trusted him. I eventually fell for him," she said, tearing up a bit.

_Liar,_ Damon's eyes told, cold as ice, glaring daggers at her as if aiming for her heart. The tone that girl spoke with was sweet. It made her come off as a nice, kind girl, a victim of the cruel world and a disobedient slave. And those tears? They were as fake as my math teacher's boobs.

Were we supposed to feel sorry for her? Because I didn't. I could never feel sorry for anyone capable of causing such damage to another innocent being, especially when that being happened to be my boyfriend whom I loved with all my heart.

"What happened, Miss Petrova?" Lockwood asked with feigned sympathy.

"He…" Katherine swallowed, hard, and tears fell out of her eyes like a perfectly acted waterfall, obviously well trained. "He forced himself on me, forced me to take him to bed."

"That's a lie!" Damon shouted all of a sudden. His eyes met with hers and for a second I saw a hint of a smirk on her lips. Her way of saying _game on,_ I presumed. And man, did she play it well.

"Miss Gilbert, I advise you to keep your slave in line if you do not want us to take action," Judge Cooke warned sternly. As if he cared. I could tell he'd enjoy cracking a whip on Damon's back just for the sake of good fun; it was written all over his smug face.

"Sit down, Damon," I hissed. "Please." Everyone gasped in shock at me pleading with a slave, though no one was brave enough to utter a word.

Damon took a breath and did as told, overwhelmed with anger. That bitch was standing there, spreading terrifying, monstrous lies about him, and he could do nothing about it. Once again, he was helpless against her. She was allowed to do as she pleased and he had to listen to every lie, every nasty word that came out of her trampy little mouth.

If I was in his shoes, it would drive me insane, too.

"Was he disciplined for it?"

"Oh, yes," Katherine said nonchalantly. "Very. Had to sell him for cheap and keep the whole thing quiet. No one would buy an attempted rapist."

They would if the _attempted rape_ never happened.

"Thank you, Miss Petrova. Your testimony has been very helpful," Lockwood said unusually politely.

"Miss Petrova," Elijah started, taking over, "why did you not report the supposed incident?"

"As I said, no one would buy-"

"Yes," he interrupted. "But why not just turn him in? Report him? You certainly don't seem to be in need of money. You're wealthy, powerful, influential."

"I… I didn't want anyone to know. I was ashamed," she sniffled, prompting Damon to snort and me to lightly elbow him in warning.

"Is it true that you have had affairs with slaves in the past?"

"Yes," she admitted. "A girl has needs."

"And is it true that almost every one of them was sold afterwards under the accusation of causing, or attempting to cause you heavy bodily harm or force himself on you?"

"Yes," she said sharply, finally letting the real Katerina Petrova show.

"Don't you think it's a bit too much of a coincidence?"

"What can I say?" she said with a nonchalant shrug. "I have bad luck with men."

"That would be all," Elijah finished curtly.

I honestly hoped that would be last I see of her, otherwise I would be the one losing it and smacking her around, not Damon.

Such a pretty little liar that girl was.

* * *

><p><strong>Ouch. That's all I can say on Damon's behalf.<strong>

**When D****amon**** told E****lena**** that with K****atherine**** what ****yo****u see is what ****yo****u get after she slapped him, he ****lied****. As ****yo****u can see****,**** K****atherine**** is a m****a****nip****ulative**** bitch hiding behind an innocent face and sweet words. He was upset when he said that**** and wanted to hurt Elena because she hurt him****. I ****just**** wanted to clear that up so people don't think it's a plot hole or something.**

**Keep up reading and reviewing and I'll keep the chapters coming!**


	14. My Best Mistake

**Wow, 100+ reviews! Thank you guys so much!**

**Boring courtroom drama ends with this one, I swear.  
><strong>

**Go to my profile, there are spoiler pictures I made for the next chapter.**

* * *

><p><em>They take their shots, but we're bulletproof<em>

_I know places_

_And you know, for me it's always you_

_~ I Know Places by Taylor Swift_

* * *

><p><strong>~ My Best Mistake ~<strong>

* * *

><p>Christmas holidays were nearing. The weather had gotten cold; temperatures dropped dangerously below the zero and the town was constantly showered with countless of little snowflakes, turning it into a snow globe of exquisite beauty.<p>

That horror show of a trial was reaching its end and I couldn't be happier. Damon and I even had sex; it was right after coming home after Katherine's testimony. He took me completely by surprise when he initiated it, but I wasn't one to complain. I was glad he was finally showing interest, expressing a desire for me, for what I've been missing for all this time.

It happened only once, but it was a start. After all, Rome wasn't built in a day.

Today it was Jeremy's turn to give a statement and I was eager to hear what he had to say. I was actually surprised when I found out my parents had added his name to their list of witnesses. They never had a good relationship. They never had any kind of relationship, for that matter.

But then again, this is Jeremy we're talking about. That boy sucked at relationships, both the friendly and romantic kind, even more than I did.

"Mr. Gilbert," Lockwood started ever so smugly, an expression of his I'd gotten used to. I was starting to feel sorry for Tyler. It must have been a nightmare to live with and be fathered by someone so vicious. "How is your relationship with Miss Gilbert?"

"She's my sister. We… we're good, I guess," Jeremy said awkwardly. If by good he meant saying _hi_ on the way out the house and occasionally greeting me at school (when he happened to be there, as he rarely even showed up), then yes, we were good.

"And _Mr. Salvatore?"_

"We haven't really talked. He was usually in Elena's room, so I didn't see much of him."

"What about your parents? How would you describe your relationship with them?"

Mom and dad looked at him, anticipating his reply, probably expecting to hear praises on their great parenting skills that consisted of not giving a damn where their children were most of the time, and beating the shit out of their daughter's slave whilst holding her back and forcing her to watch in anguish.

If this was a horror movie, Jeremy and I would probably be a pair of serial killers on a murder spree, and our terrible backgrounds with neglectful and abusive parents would be used to justify our vile actions to the viewers.

What Jeremy _did_ say surprised not only our parents, but everyone else present as well.

"There is _no _relationship. They're rarely, if ever, home, and even when they are, all we ever do is argue. I spend more time at my friends' homes than my own."

If looks could kill, then the one on my dad's face would have certainly murdered Jeremy in cold blood. Mom just put her head down, her cheeks red with embarrassment, regretting the decision to bring him into this.

But Jeremy wasn't done yet. Not by a longshot.

"They never listen to what I have to say. I'm out of the house for days and they don't even bother to check up on me. They usually appear at my friends' doorstep a week later and make up some bullshit apologies and promises they never keep just to get me to come back to make themselves look good."

Lockwood requested a moment to consult with his clients, which the judge happily allowed. After some whispering (and judging by the look of anger on my father's face, words said were better off as whispers no one but them could hear) he stepped up and said in a neutral, emotionless tone: "No further questions for the witness, Your Honor."

"My brother told me many times he's badass," I told Damon quietly, wearing a smile on my face, remembering all the times Jeremy and I played as kids and he proclaimed himself a badass. I felt like I owed him an apology for never believing him.

Damon's face lit up before replying, a finger placed over his lips to shush me: "Badasses don't say that."

I let out a small, barely audible chuckle. It was such a Damon thing to say. He may have played it cool, but I could see that he, too, was grateful for Jeremy's testimony in his own, special Damon way people could rarely understand. Even I, the person who knew him best, sometimes found it hard to decipher his mixed signals and double meanings.

"Mr. Gilbert, would you describe your parents as abusive?" Elijah asked, taking over the questioning, and I was quick to avert my eyes to Jeremy, granting him my full attention.

"They never hit me, if that's what you're asking," Jeremy replied honestly. If there was one thing our parents didn't do wrong, it was raising us without ever turning to corporal punishment.

"How about emotionally? Were they neglectful?"

"Yes. I never really felt like I could talk to them. I rarely even see them. They're always at work."

"How would you describe their treatment of slaves?"

"Cruel. Their slaves are punished for the smallest of mistakes. They always seem to be in pain whenever I see them."

"So would your say your parents are no strangers to mistreatment of slaves?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever witnessed their… outbursts?"

"Many times. That was one of the reasons I started hanging out at my friends' homes. I couldn't bear to look at what they were doing."

When I think about it, it makes perfect sense. I remember being there when my parents beat the hell out of Isobel; it was two years ago, but the memory is still fresh in my mind. Jeremy stood in the corner, weeping, begging them to stop, but they just kept on going, hitting her, breaking her, ignoring my brother and my pleads for mercy on the poor woman's behalf.

It was around that time he started coming home from school late, staying out till early morning hours, hanging out with people he shouldn't have even looked at, and making out and maybe even going all the way (I didn't really want to know the details) with girls he barely knew.

"No further questions," Elijah said. "Thank you, Mr. Gilbert."

"Can I just say something?" Jeremy inquired, earning him puzzled glances from everyone in the room.

"Go on," Judge Cooke reluctantly said.

"I don't see my sister that often, especially lately, but I've never seen her this happy. I may not know Damon at all, but he doesn't seem like a bad guy. If he was, my sister wouldn't have fallen in love with him. I know that much. What my parents did was cruel, and they deserve every punishment they get. No human being, slave or not, deserves such treatment. So Elena, Damon, good luck. I wish you well."

If I could, I would've hugged him. This was the closest my brother and I have been in ages, and only now I realized just how much I've missed him. Damon was beaming, radiating with joy, his hand squeezing mine for a change.

My parents and Lockwood looked pissed, their glares murderous. _Sucks to have the tables turned, doesn't it?_ Now they know how Damon and I felt listening to their and their people's lies.

* * *

><p>The day has finally come – it was time for me to tell my side of the story, time for everyone to listen to what I had to say. And I had a <em>lot<em> to say.

"Miss Gilbert, how did you come into possession of _Mr. Salvatore?"_ Lockwood asked with obvious dislike of me.

"He was my birthday present," I replied.

"Who had given him to you?"

"My parents," I said, frowning. I had a really bad feeling about this.

"Alright," Lockwood said, taking a short breath. "How was your relationship with _Mr. Salvatore_ before you became romantically involved?"

"Friendly," I said. It wasn't really a lie, more like half-truth.

"So you never had arguments? Disagreements? He never disobeyed?"

"We had our differences," I admitted. From the corner of my eye I could see Damon smirk and I just wanted to smack him in the shoulder (in a friendly way, of course) for being such an ass.

"Our sources say he was out of control."

"I could control him." I was certain lying in court was some kind of crime, but I didn't want them to get the wrong idea. Although I could partly control him, I never had full control over him. There was always something he did that I had no way of stopping, an action that would've earned him quite a whipping had he happened to have a different master.

I could see a trace of a smirk on Damon's lips, no doubt thinking of _other_ types of control that I had over him and that he wished for me to have. I blushed, pushing the embarrassing thoughts aside. This was not the time nor place for such mental images. Damn him and his perverted attitude.

"Was _Mr. Salvatore_ ever violent towards you?"

"Never," I fired. If anything, I was the violent one, slapping him to break his heart like a cold-hearted bitch I was.

"Is it true that he had been caught stealing from Mr. Gilbert twice?"

"Yes."

"Is it true that he had been disciplined in both these instances?"

"Against my will, but yes."

"Against your will? Clarify," Lockwood demanded.

"I told my parents I would discipline him if necessary," I said with a small sigh.

"And did you?"

"I talked to him about it, yes."

"But did he suffer any consequences for his actions?"

"Was my parents whipping the hell out of him not enough of a consequence?" I snapped.

"Let me rephrase that," Lockwood offered. "Did he suffer any consequences for his actions _at your hand?"_

"I don't practice corporal punishment," I said proudly, to which everyone, including the judge, gasped in shock. What the hell was wrong with those people?

"But your parents do?" Lockwood inquired.

"Unfortunately."

"So let me get this straight: you discipline your slave by talking to him?"

"That is correct."

"That would be all, Your Honor," Lockwood said in a curt manner, prompting Elijah to take over.

"Miss Gilbert, is it true that you are opposed to slavery?"

"Yes, it is."

"Were your parents aware of your views?"

"Yes, they were."

"Why did they get you a slave, then?"

"They wanted me to learn responsibility," I replied, remembering the very first time I saw Damon. He was so pretty, so elegant and handsome, the most beautiful human being I've ever seen. I remember thinking that, if I was into slavery, he would be my first choice. I still stand by it – more than anything else now that I'm in love with him.

"How was their treatment of Mr. Salvatore?"

"Harsh."

"What did you tell them?"

"That I would punish him if necessary because he's mine."

"And did they listen?"

"No."

"How did you react when they first disciplined him without your permission?"

"I was angry, disappointed… sad. I was mostly worried for him."

"What condition was he in?"

"Bad. He was bleeding and had cuts all over." I pointed to my body, pictures of Damon's horrific injuries flashing before my eyes as I gestured exactly where I remembered them to be and what condition they left him in.

"Did he receive medical attention?"

"He said he'd be fine without," I said. Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill, and I took a deep, sharp breath.

_Relax, Elena. You can do this. It's the past. He's safe now._

If only my body was willing to listen.

"And what about the second time? What did you tell your parents?"

"I gave them one last warning."

"You mentioned an incident during which you were struck. Can you tell us more about it?"

"My dad got mad at Damon for speaking without permission and wanted to… _discipline_ him, but I jumped in the way."

"Why?"

"I wanted to protect him."

"And the latest incident, the one we're all here for; can you tell us about it?"

I allowed myself a long breath before speaking. "My parents walked in on Damon and me having… _sex."_ I could see Damon smirk again, a short inch away from a chuckle. Why did he have to be such a pervert? It was already uncomfortable for me to talk about it as it was. "They thought I was using him for fun, and when I told them I loved him, they freaked out."

"So they were not supportive of your relationship?"

"Saying they were not supportive would be an understatement," I snarked.

"What happened afterwards?"

Flashbacks came flooding in, bringing back memories of pain and suffering, emotions I never wanted to experience again, pictures I never wanted to be a witness to again for the rest of my life.

"Damon was there during the argument," I said, gulping. I looked over to him and he slightly nodded, giving a small, but decisive approval to share the story of that evening of horror. "My dad tried to hit me and Damon stepped in front of me to protect me. There was shouting and screaming and… dad said horrible things and…"

Tears fell down my cheeks like a waterfall, unstoppable. I buried my head in my hands for a moment, taking a few breaths, trying to get my breathing under control. My heart was racing, a ticking time bomb ready to explode. I didn't want to remember. I didn't want to relive those events, see those pictures, feel Damon's fresh, warm blood on my skin all over again.

I didn't want to feel so useless for being such a failure, because I should have protected him. If only I fought harder.

"Mom restrained me," I continued, my voice shaky, eyes red and puffy, tears still falling. "I tried to free myself, but she was too strong. Dad was whipping Damon and I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. He just kept hitting him and…" I sobbed, hands covering my face, nails digging into my skin like tiny, crescent-shaped knives. I wept as though my life depended on it, the entirety of me shaking. "And then they just left him like that and I… I called 911 and… There was so much blood. He… he looked like a corpse… I couldn't do anything… Oh, god!"

"No further questions," Elijah said.

"Thirty minute break," Judge Cooke announced.

Elijah helped me to my feet and I fell straight into Damon's open arms, enveloped in a hug I wished would last forever. "Shh, it's okay," he said tenderly. Still, I couldn't calm down, couldn't force my body to relax when all those painful memories were back, fresh in my mind, eating up at me like vultures, ripping me apart in ways that couldn't hurt more.

"You're making a mistake Elena," my mom said as she passed by me.

"Just so you know, once this is all over, we will officially disown you," dad growled before following her.

Those were the best news I've heard all day. I wanted nothing of theirs anymore, nothing to remind me of their vicious nature and macabre tendencies. Having their DNA was enough. If there was a way to change it, trust me, I'd be first in line.

"Calm down," Damon said sweetly, ignoring my parents' remarks. He gently cupped my face and I looked him in the eye, my vision blurred by tears. "Let's get you cleaned up."

He took me to the bathroom, wiping away my tears ever so delicately, as if I was a fragile flower about to break to the simplest of touches. I've never seen him this concerned, this worried. It was cute in a weird kind of way, maybe even sweet because he just didn't seem like the kind of guy who would do this.

"Look at me," he whispered, and I did just that. "You're okay now. I'm here. I got you." He put his arms around me again, wrapping me in a protective hug.

"I should've fought harder," I wept.

"No," he said, gently tapping my back. "You were amazing."

"I should've saved you."

"Hey, hey, listen to me," he cooed. "You did the best you could. There is nothing to feel guilty about. I'm alright. See? Everything's healed, fresh as a daisy," he joked.

Letting the smallest of smiles creep onto my lips I pulled him into a kiss, taking him by surprise. I instantly felt better, at least a bit; it seemed his lips had healing properties I knew just how to use to my advantage, making them my pleasure, my cure, my everything.

"What was that for?" he asked as we parted, panting.

"I had a really crappy day and I needed it."

Chuckling, we dove into another kiss, this one stronger, rougher than before, and before we knew it we were going at it in a bathroom stall in a place I was pretty sure had laws against having sex in. But it didn't matter. We were important here; our passion, our love, comfort only we could provide for each other, comfort that I so desperately yearned for after such a sickening day.

_If this is what it's like to be in the wrong, then I will keep making mistakes,_ I promised myself. Because Damon couldn't possibly be anything but my best one.

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><p><strong>We'll get some action in the next chapter. It's one of my favorites. Review and I'll post it before you know it!<strong>


	15. The Hero Complex

**I never got so many reviews for one chapter in my life! Thanks a bunch, guys!**

**Now you get to see the context of those spoiler pics on Tumblr for this chapter. I posted some more pics of this chapter there, so check them out if you want (they're quite spoiler-y so I suggest you look at them **_**after**_** reading, but suit yourself).**

**Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate today! I didn't forget about you.**

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><p><em>Rescue me<em>

_Show me who I am_

_'Cause I can't believe_

_This is how the story ends_

_Fight for me if it's not too late_

_Help me breathe again_

_No, this can't be how the story ends_

_~ Rescue Me by Kerrie Roberts_

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><p><strong>~ The Hero Complex ~<strong>

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><p>Due to the holiday season, the hearing was postponed until February. There were only three more testimonies left to be heard – my parents' and Damon's – and I was anticipating to hear what they had to say. Damon's story I knew, obviously, but my parents' point of view on the events would certainly differ, no doubt demonizing Damon and me in some way.<p>

Christmas has come rather quickly. It was snowing outside, a cover of white enveloping the entirety of the forest surrounding the lake house. Damon and I were seated by the fireplace in our usual position, in each other's arms, warm and safe in a loving embrace.

I listened to Damon's heartbeat. Such a sweet melody, tender and kind, just as he was (once you get to know him, that is. Otherwise he's a huge jerk).

"I remember coming here as a child," I said, memories of childhood joy and innocence rushing back like a hurricane. "My parents would always get the tallest tree from the forest for Jeremy and me to decorate."

It was then that I realized what I've just said and I couldn't help but feel guilty for bringing up the very people who'd caused him such harm.

"I'm sorry, Damon. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's okay," he simply replied, but I could see it bothered him. The mere mention of them bothered him; I could feel it in his heartbeat, which had started to race almost unnaturally.

I started to wonder what his childhood holidays were like. They were probably nothing like mine. Slaves rarely, if ever got days off, even on holidays. He must have been treated horribly even on the most special of days, and I instantly felt sorry for whatever he'd gone through.

I was glad to have him here with me, to give him one holiday full of peace and warmth, grant him love that he deserved and that he'll always have for as long as I'm around. And I could tell he appreciated it. If only my huge mouth knew when to stay quiet.

"This is your first, isn't it? Christmas, I mean," I clarified, sensing that perverted grin of his from miles away. "Like this."

"Yes," he admitted, tightening his grip on me. "Slaves have it bad. Child slaves have it much worse. That jealousy when you watch other kids open their gifts with smiles on their faces while you have to mop floors and pretend everything's fine lest you want to bring on _father's_ fury…"

"I'm sorry," I said slowly, pressing a small kiss to his rosy cheek.

"What he said wasn't true, you know? My _father."_ Once again he spat the word _father_ like it was made of poison. "He never let me recover. Even at my worst I had to work. Whatever I did was never enough so he'd punish me over, and over, and over again, and force me to work that way, then repeat the cycle. The scars you asked about? It wasn't all Katherine. He was the one who started it. Katherine and others just perfected his work."

"You don't have to talk about it," I said softly. In all honesty, I didn't want to hear the details. It only made me feel even guiltier for not taking care of him properly and protecting him on time. "Not if it's making you uncomfortable."

"It doesn't matter if it's making me uncomfortable, Elena," he said. "You need to know what you're getting into."

"I knew it from the start."

"Aren't you afraid? I'm bad, Elena. I do bad things. Their treatment may have been cruel, but it was me who disobeyed. I bent the rules to my liking and I paid the price." He shifted into a more comfortable position before continuing. "Now you are doing things you never even dreamed of doing for a guy who is nothing but trouble. You can't tame me, _princess._ No one can."

"I don't want to tame you. I love you, Damon. I love that jerk. I love that cynical bastard who challenged my every decision and defied my every order just to piss me off and see how far he could go without suffering the consequences. I love that asshole who went through my underwear drawer – several times – and manipulated me into putting a torture collar around his neck to make me feel guilty for giving him false hope and breaking his heart."

He smirked a little at that, but I could see my heartfelt confession got to him. Still, I wasn't done yet. I had a lot more to say on the subject and he needed to hear it.

"I love that sweet guy who forgave me for hurting him the worst way possible and gave me another chance even though it was probably the hardest thing he's ever had to do; who comforted me when I was at my worst and welcomed me with open arms; who knows just the right way to get to me and wipe away my tears."

"You practiced that speech, didn't you?" he said, taken aback by my words, though he wouldn't be Damon if he'd admitted it.

"This morning in front of the mirror when you were taking a shower," I admitted. Don't judge me. When you need to tell a loved one how much you loved them through all their flaws, you want to make it perfect. Especially when that loved one happens to be Damon _the egoist_ Salvatore.

"I love you, too," he said simply, giving me a light kiss to the lips. "But just so you know, I'm selfish for you, Elena. You said you'd always choose me. Well, same goes for me. For me, it will always be you. I'll keep making mistakes for your sake because that's who I am, Elena, and I'm not gonna change. And there is no apology in the world that encompasses all the reasons that I'm wrong for you. And if you still want to be with me after what I just said, I gotta say you're the right girl for me because you're just as crazy as I am."

I chuckled lightly. "Then we understand each other."

"Good," he agreed.

"Good," I repeated. "But just so _you_ know, out of all mistakes I've made, you are by far my best one. I could never be afraid of you."

With that I crashed my lips into his, giving him the kiss of my life. The heat was back on, dancing around us, gluing itself to our electrified bodies. He wanted me and I wanted him. It was a perfect match made either in heaven or hell, however you wish to interpret our relationship, and we loved it, loved every second of it. We loved our little games, our crazy, wild love that couldn't have possibly been healthy.

And that was the magic behind it. How could something so wrong taste so right? How could it be so beautiful, yet at the same time terrible, ruining lives, breaking families apart? How could he have so much power over me, his one touch sending me into a frenzy and reducing me to a mess completely under his control?

We ran to the bedroom, tearing each other's clothes off on the way, hands glued to each other the entire time. He threw me to the bed and I pulled him on top of me, ravishing him, my body craving his in a way I couldn't control.

"Are you sure?" I whispered between kisses, words barely leaving my mouth, my breathing fast and furious.

I remembered all the bad that I've heard was done to him, all the things he was forced to do, all sex he had no permission to say no to, and I just wanted to be sure he was ready for this. We rarely had sex these days and I wanted him to know it was okay to decline, even if every single inch of my body ached for him, yearned to have him inside of me.

I could wait until he was ready. I was willing to wait until the end of time as long as he's content, because his happiness is what mattered to me the most.

"I'm sure," he said, placing tender kisses to my neck, descending to my chest before finally settling on my breasts.

He suckled on a nipple and I let out a moan so loud that I was glad the lake house was lonesome; no doubt I would've woken up the entire neighborhood have we happened to be in my home back in Mystic Falls.

"Merry Christmas, Elena," he said softly, and I allowed a slight gasp escape my lips.

"Merry Christmas, Damon."

This was my best Christmas ever, and to spend it with Damon made me the happiest girl on Earth. This moment of pleasure was the best present I could have asked for. Damon really knew how to get a girl to beg on her knees for him and make it feel so fucking good.

It was only one of the many reasons I loved him so much.

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><p>Time flew by quickly and before we knew it, it was early February, the afternoon of the trial. Damon and I hopped into the car (he'd insisted on being the driver. He said it was his duty as he was still my slave, but I could see right through him – the truth was, he was growing fond of the car), light music playing on the radio as we drove.<p>

It was still snowing, the temperatures getting lower and lower by each passing day. The road bore a thin cover of ice, so Damon had to drive slowly if we wanted to get to the trial in one piece. I could see a change in his expression. It was stiffer, more serious, obviously disliking of the fact that he had to tell his version of events in a room full of people who loathed him.

"I'll be there," I said in an attempt to lighten his sour mood.

"I know," he replied, his voice rid of all emotion, his face a few shades paler than natural. It was strange to see him so milky-white. All I could think about were his adorable rosy cheeks that I liked to caress and press kisses to every morning right after waking up, and every evening before drifting off to sleep. It was a little ritual of mine that I've grown fond of, one that Damon didn't seem to mind. Actually, he seemed to quite enjoy it.

His cheeks were, after all, one of his greatest features (and trust me, he had a lot of those).

As we approached the Wickery Bridge, I noticed another car that looked strangely familiar. Upon closer examination, I finally recognized it as my parents'. They were going the same route we did. Damon gulped at the sight of them, his face stiffening, but he kept on driving as though everything was alright, as though my parents, whom we've both grown to despise, weren't right behind us.

"We make it out alive, I promise you a night you'll never forget," I said jokingly.

He smirked at my remark, finally showing some emotion. "You are so on it," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, a movement that never ceased to make me blush like a lovesick schoolgirl (which I kinda was).

I took a short glance out the rear and noticed something strange – my parents' car was right behind us, too close for comfort, when just a moment ago they were far back. Something wasn't right here. I had a terrible feeling about this.

"What's he doing?" Damon demanded.

"I think he's speeding up."

"Really? I had no idea. Thank you for enlightening me," he snarked. "Why?"

"How should I know?" I retorted.

Our car suddenly shook, and my heart skipped a beat in panic.

"Damn it!" Damon swore under his breath, speeding up in hopes my dad would just drop it, but he followed our every move, matched our every change of speed. "I'm starting to think you father has homicidal tendencies."

I had to agree with Damon on that one. What the hell? Were they trying to get us killed? We may have had our differences, but I was still their daughter; they still hadn't officially disowned me. Would they really kill their own flesh and blood?

We were going faster than recommended for these weather conditions, and I could feel the tires slipping on ice every now and then, each time gasping with sheer terror. I didn't want to die. Not like this, not now that everything was so amazing with Damon and me. We were hit from behind once again, pushed forward by the strong blow, and Damon let out a barrage of curses most of which I've never even heard of until now.

_I don't want to die._ That was all I could think of. I had a whole life ahead of me, life full of joy, full of Damon. I didn't want to give that away. But I also didn't want to let them win. It was time for them to pay for their sins. Damon's story had to be heard for all, everyone had to know just what kind of monsters those two wealthy, influential people were, how many skeletons they'd hid in their closet.

I glanced over to Damon and I knew he was thinking the same as me: If we're going down, they're going down with us. We didn't fight them for so long to give up now.

Damon sped up again, my father tailing him. This wasn't going to end well; it just wasn't.

"Damon," I said as I clasped my hand over his. If I was heading into death, I wanted to hold onto the man I loved and feel his touch for one last time before everything faded into unpredictable darkness.

He looked at me, his eyes penetrating my soul, reading me like the open book I was. "I know," he said softly, almost sadly. "Me, too."

It was then that it happened. Their car crashed into ours just when we reached the Wickery Bridge, pushing us aside, the tornado of destruction swallowing us all. The fall was quick. I could hear ice cracking as the metal that were our cars pierced through it, shattering it, reducing it to pieces. The windows broke on impact and water came rushing in, flooding us, trapping us into a nightmare I'd never hoped to live through.

Water was icy, freezing, its coolness sticking to me like glue, wrapping its cold, deadly tentacles around every inch of my body. I reluctantly let go of Damon's hand, the only comfort, only light of life I had left, attempting to free myself from the seatbelt that held me in place, but all I could do was just pull at it hopelessly.

_I don't want to die._

My lungs began to burn as cold liquid filled them, viciously grasping at them. My vision was starting to blur, my consciousness fading, my body giving into the weakness that was slowly overcoming me. I squinted and grazed around in search for Damon. I needed to see him one more time before I go, just in case death doesn't turn out to be the way I imagined it.

If I was going to spend an eternity in darkness, I wanted his face to be my last memory. I wanted his crystal blue eyes to be the last to look at me, to remember me for who I was.

_Damon,_ my mind begged, grasping at the last bits of strength I had left. _Where are you?_

I couldn't leave without seeing him just one last time. He was the one that I was fighting for, and it was him that I needed right now. I needed him to tell me, whisper to me that everything is going to be okay, that I'm not going to be alone, that he will always be with me, comfort me, love me the way no one but he can.

_One last look._

I wanted to stay, and I wanted him to stay with me.

_Please. I don't want to go._

Suddenly I felt the seatbelt loosen its hold on me. Strong, protective arms I've grown so fond of encircled me, pulling me up towards the light, up from this darkness I found myself falling into. It felt like eternity until I finally reached the surface. I took in a deep, painful breath, coughing up water that had filled my lungs.

He still held onto me, gently tapping my back, helping me get my breathing under control while whispering comforting words into my ear, words that were all goddamn lies, but were exactly what I wanted _and_ needed to hear and he knew that.

"It's okay. I've got you."

"D-Damon?" I stuttered, my voice giving in.

"It's me. I'm here, Elena," he assured me. "You're going to be okay."

My lips curled into the smallest of smiles, a sign of joy that he was still with me, holding me and loving me in his own special way.

"That's right, smile. Just stay with me, okay? I need you to stay with me, sweetheart," Damon said, his voice reeking of desperation, his grasp on me tightening, begging me to do exactly as told and not fade into the darkness that was calling for me for the second time today. "Everything's going to be okay."

As if on cue, like the universe was playing some cruel, twisted joke on the both of us, everything went black as midnight.

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><p>Opening my eyes, I found myself strapped to a chair. Belts that held me were tight, leaving red marks on my soft skin. I glanced around, observing my surroundings, trying to figure out how the hell I managed to get here. I remembered looking into Damon's eyes and taking his hand and…<p>

Nothing. Everything after that was blank.

The room I was in was almost as large as the entire lake house. The furniture looked expensive, ancient, well preserved for generations. It seemed as though no one had been here in ages.

"Damon?" I called, looking around. He seemed to be nowhere in sight and I felt my heart beat faster in panic. Where was he? Was he alright? Was he, too, held captive?

And then I saw him. A gasp escaped my lips, eyes tearing up at the sight of him. He was on his feet, his arms high above his head. What appeared to be bear traps were clasped around his wrists, digging into his skin like knives, leaving trails of blood down his arms.

"Damon!" I screamed, pulling against my restraints, trying to set myself free to help him. All my attempts were futile. I was trapped, belts tight against my skin and holding me in place.

Damon looked at me, his eyes filled with sorrow, his expression radiating with pain. I heard a familiar clicker of heals and twitched as my mother came into view with my father in tow, both wearing satisfied smiles on their faces. _No!_ my mind screamed, urging me to do something, anything, to free myself from those wretched belts and run to his aid.

Damon's head hung weakly and I could see he was trying his hardest to stay awake, to keep himself conscious just enough to see me, to make sure I was alright. Even in his hardest of moments, he still worried for me. _You ass!_ It was himself he should have worried for. I was going to be fine. It wasn't me that my parents were after.

"Remember, Elena, this is for your own good," my mom said sweetly, the whip in her hand steady, ready to strike at her command.

"We only want what's best for you," dad added, preparing his own whip.

"No! Leave him alone!" I cried, tears streaming down my cheeks as a fountain of emotions burst out, rushing to the surface. I was shaking like a child in need of comfort, scared and alone, worried like I've never been before.

"You've got nothing to be afraid of, Elena. They aren't gonna do it. They don't have the guts," Damon said in a mocking tone, looking my parents straight in the eye. "They're just cowards hiding behind their little whips; worthless, shallow pieces of shit!"

"You insolent bastard!" dad exclaimed, enraged, and struck at Damon with the whip. Damon hissed, refusing to give my dad the pleasure of hearing him beg for mercy, and then laughed in his face, openly mocking him.

"Is that the best you got? I expected more," Damon challenged.

Another blow followed, and another hiss came from Damon, who kept that decisive smirk on his face. My dad struck him again, and again, and again. He kept going at it until Damon was fully covered in blood, trembling as every single nerve in his body ached. Still, he refused to scream, refused to beg on his knees. He wouldn't be called Damon Salvatore if he didn't have that damn pride of his.

"Stop," I begged, averting my eyes. I couldn't look at it, not again, not after I worked so hard to keep the previous incident in the past. Now it was all rushing back, and I felt more helpless than ever. "No more. Please, no more of this."

"Pathetic," Damon said daringly. This time it was my mother who cracked the whip against his skin and he actually groaned, but was quick to compose himself, glaring at both her and my dad with dangerous intensity. "There are things you suck at, _sweethearts._ Punishing a slave is one of them. This whip thing is getting a tad bit old, don't you think?"

What the hell was he doing?

"You're right," my dad said with a nod. "We really should change our tactic." With that he grabbed at Damon's forearm and pulled down, hard.

Damon's screams were so loud that I swear the entire room shook. The bear trap ripped at the skin, turning his wrist into a bloody, painful mess. Blood gushed out, leaving enormous pools on the floor beneath.

Smiling, mom walked over to the other arm, and she and dad, agreeing with a nod, pulled at the same time. Damon cried out, his shrieks filled with pain and distress as blood covered the entirety of him. The metal ripped at his wrists, peeling off pieces of skin that fell down alongside a trail of blood. My parents laughed at Damon's agonizing cries, laughed at his futile attempts to shift and free himself of their grasp, attempts that only dug the metal pieces deeper into his wounds.

"STOP!" I shouted, on the verge of a breakdown, my eyes firmly shut closed.

"Honey, wake up," I heard a tender voice. "You're dreaming."

"Damon!" I cried out. I slowly allowed my eyes to open again and sighed as I realized this was no torture room, and there was no Damon in pain. Wait… Damon? What about Damon? The mere thought of what might have happened to him drove me into a panic frenzy. "Where is Damon?"

"Calm down, sweetheart," the gentle-voiced woman, whom I now recognized as the nurse, said. "Your slave is perfectly fine."

"I need to see him," I demanded.

"He'll be here right away," she promised.

Sure enough, less than a minute later he was in, rushing over to me and wrapping his arms around me in a protective embrace.

"I was so scared," I said, tears filling up my eyes. I couldn't help it. I was always emotional when it came to him. Good thing that monstrosity I've just been present to was only a dream. I would've gone insane had it happened to be real. I was already on the verge of insanity as it was. "I thought you… I had a dream…"

"I'm fine, Elena," he assured me, cupping my face to look straight into my eyes. "Everything is fine."

"What happened?" I asked as I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.

"You don't remember?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow, slightly tensing up.

I remembered only bits of pieces, flashes that seemed more like dreams than memories. I could see us in the car, someone chasing us and pushing us off the road. I took his hand and we fell off the bridge… I couldn't breathe, there was a lot of water and…

I took in another deep breath, trying to recall what happened afterwards. The Wickery Bridge, water, my lungs burning like they were on fire… I was drowning, then Damon pulled me up, carried me in his arms, cradled me like a newborn, held on a bit too tight, but I didn't mind. All I knew was that I was safe. That was all that mattered.

Then came flashing lights. He whispered something into my ear before I was taken from his arms and he took my hand…

And then I woke up here.

"You saved me," I said softly.

"I will always save you," he promised, placing a kiss to my forehead, and then to my lips, this one rougher, passionate, the kind of kiss I was used to.

"What was that for?" I wondered.

"I had a really crappy day and I needed it."

Once again using own words against me. Such a delicate sweetheart he was. But I didn't mind. In all honesty, it was kind of cute. And hot, in a Damon-kinda way. But then again, everything about Damon was hot. The entire point of his existence was to be hot and beautiful and rude and reckless, and charm everything and everyone in close vicinity with his dashing looks that no straight woman or gay man in their right mind would nor could dare resist.

Suddenly I remembered. People chasing us, the other car crashing into ours…

"My parents?" I asked.

I could see a slight twinge in Damon's expression. "Elena, I…"

"Tell me what happened!" I demanded. Whatever it was, I had to know. I _needed_ to know for my own peace of mind.

"They're dead," he said sharply, looking me straight in the eye, trying his best to keep on his bad-guy face I've grown accustomed to in times like these. "They tried to kill us and ended up killing themselves. The irony…"

"Oh, my god," I whispered as tears took over, sending my body into a shaking disaster. I crumbled into Damon's arms and buried my head in the soft fabric of his shirt, absorbing the scent of that intoxicating cologne he had, as usual, dosed himself in. He held me like a child as I wept, and whispered sweet nothings in my ear in futile attempts to calm me down.

I may have hated them, but they were still my parents: people who raised me, cared for me for all those years, fed and clothed me. I couldn't just let all that go. They were terrible people, and yet here I was, crying for them in the arms of the man they'd hurt so many times, the man that was now comforting me when he should have been throwing a party to celebrate his abusers' demise.

Irony, as he'd said.

"I'm sorry," I rasped, all of a sudden feeling guilty.

Damon just shook his head, giving my back a tender tap. "It's okay, baby. There is nothing to be sorry for. Cry it out."

So cry I did.

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><p><strong>It's time to reverse the roles for a little bit. Now it's Damon who's doing the comforting.<strong>

**The story is coming to an end. Just a few more chapters and we're done.**


	16. Kiss the Pain Away

**I sound like a broken record, but thank you for the feedback! It's greatly appreciated!**

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><p><em>Every time the darkness falls around me<em>

_I can feel you move beneath my skin_

_And something strange is happening inside me_

_Don't know where you end and I begin_

_I want you to know_

_This love is more than chemical_

_~ Chemical by Kerli_

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><p><strong>~ Kiss the Pain Away ~<strong>

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><p>Despite hating my parents probably more than I ever could, Damon has been very supportive in the days after their demise. He was always in my proximity, kept an eye on me, rushed to my side whenever I seemed to reach the point of breaking down, held me and slowly shook me in his arms as though I was a small, fragile child. Which is exactly the kind of condition I was in.<p>

He even attended their funeral to be my support, to keep me on my feet. Had he not been there, I would've crumbled, fallen down the moment I stepped foot out the car. He never once said a bad word about them, even when I had one of my outbursts and cursed them out loud, screamed out all the bad they'd done in their life.

It was easier that way. Remembering the bad and forgetting the good made it easier to cope, at least for a little bit.

"They abused you, Damon!" I shrieked after returning home from the funeral – my real home, not the lake house Damon and I had temporarily settled in. Now that my parents were gone, we felt welcome back here.

Jeremy, as he was still underage, needed a guardian, so our aunt Jenna, mom's sister, moved in. She was a nice person, young and perky, and took an instant liking to Damon. I was actually surprised to see her treat him so kindly. She and my mom really were nothing alike. Now I could see why we rarely ever visited Jenna; she was, like me, against slavery, and my parents felt she'd be a bad influence on Jeremy and me with her _modern_ attitude and views.

"That's an understatement," Damon snarked in a calm manner, which only seemed to anger me further. I grabbed the nearest vase and threw it across the room, the fragile porcelain shattering on impact.

"They underestimated me, neglected me," I ranted, tears falling down my cheeks in gallons. "They tried to _fucking_ kill me and I'm sad they're gone! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"You're human, Elena," Damon said curtly and took me by the shoulders, giving them a light, but firm shake. "You're sad because you're human, and you will always be sad because that's what humans do."

"But how can I miss them so much when all I ever wanted was for them to be gone?" I demanded.

"Because you're _fucking_ human! It's normal, Elena," he said, his voice softening up. He lightly caressed my red, swollen cheek, wiping away a wet trail of tears. "You're allowed to grieve."

"They hurt you," I said, my voice a barely audible whisper.

Memories of Damon's bloodied, bruised body rushed back, all that anger and helplessness back for a short moment, haunting me, keeping me trapped in the past full of pain and suffering. Then came that nightmare, those wretched bear traps scratching at his wrists, peeling off his skin… God, it felt so real! No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get it out of my head.

"They hurt you, too," Damon said softly, placing a chaste kiss to my lips.

"Would you be sad?" I asked. He frowned, waiting for me to elaborate, my question startling him. "If your father was to die… Would you miss him? Be honest with me, Damon."

"You want honesty? Fine. I'd be more than happy to see that son of a bitch drop dead. Hell, I'd do it myself if there weren't laws against it, and then I'd throw the greatest party of my miserable life to celebrate the bastard's death."

Okay, so our views of the world were a tad bit different. Maybe I shouldn't have asked. Some things are better off not knowing about.

"But that's me, Elena," he added, his beautiful eyes staring straight into my soul. "You care about people, you forgive… We all have our own ways of coping. There is nothing wrong with yours."

He wrapped his arms around me and I allowed tears to fall, staining his shirt to which I held onto for dear life. He just stood there, quiet, my cries echoing in the silence of the dimly lit room. I was in an embrace of the man whom I needed most, the man whom I never wished to let go of, whom I needed now more than ever, more than anything.

The man who will always have my back.

* * *

><p>"Bon appetite!" Jenna said as she served breakfast which consisted of scrambled eggs and bacon, one of my favorites.<p>

Seated at the table alongside her were Jeremy, Damon, and I, all eager to take a bite out of the food. Jenna turned out to be quite a competent cook, way better than my mom. We always anticipated meal time just so we could eat whatever goodness she thought to prepare.

The house had gotten rather quiet in three months after my parents' demise. There were no more slaves around; Isobel and all the others weren't claimed by anyone in the family, so the state took custody of them, probably selling them to some wealthy businessmen who wanted to get their hands on the slaves that once belonged to one of the richest couples in Mystic Falls.

The only one left was Damon, but he was treated more like a family member (or a perverted roommate you can't live neither with nor without, as Jenna once colorfully expressed herself) than a slave. Elijah was still working on the papers for me to sign to free him, and I was gleefully anticipating the day he'll walk in and announce he's finally sorted everything out.

"You should consider a cooking career," Damon commented as he took a bite, prompting Jenna to laugh.

"No way. Prepared food at the Grill as a teenager." She made a disgusted face. "Never doing that again, especially there." She turned to Jeremy. "So, how's school?"

"Good," he replied absent-mindedly.

To everyone's surprise, my little brother started to actually attend his classes and began to avoid the stoner gang he always used to hang out with. Jenna's frequent visits to school may have had something to do with it, as had her, what appeared to be, growing romance with our History teacher, Alaric.

"What about you Elena? Everything going great?" Jenna asked, not-so-subtly winking in Damon's direction, who, once again, had that perverted grin on his face.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Actually, Damon and I are going on a little trip today," I said.

"Really?" Jenna inquired, a knowing smile playing on her lips. I'd let her in on a secret last night, a little surprise I had for Damon, and she was obviously nudging me to tease him.

"Yeah, really?" Damon said, genuinely confused.

"It's a surprise."

"Consider me surprised."

"You'll love it," I promised.

"Trust me, you will," Jenna agreed, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Some of us are trying to eat," Jeremy whined.

"Not _that!"_ Jenna and I exclaimed at the same time, and Damon's face fell, that playful smirk gone. Why was I not surprised that _that_ was exactly what he had in mind? Though it wasn't excluded from the package, might I add. It all depended on the mood, which I didn't doubt would be amazing.

"What, then?" he inquired.

"I told you, it's a surprise."

"You're not selling me, are you?" he joked, and I rolled my eyes. He could be such an ass sometimes. Okay, most of the time. But I still loved that ass.

That sounded way less perverted in my mind. Good thing I didn't say it out loud; he'd never let me hear the end of it.

"I told you you'll _love_ it," I assured him.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure about this?"<p>

"I am," I said with a gulp; an obvious lie. "Let's do this."

To get to our designated destination, we had to cross the Wickery Bridge. I was still jumpy around that place; traces of the accident were still there, dark, coal-black tire marks traced alongside the road. I held tightly onto Damon's hand as we crossed, listened to his pleas for me to relax and take deep breaths, doing as told just to keep the memories suppressed in the darkest parts of my mind.

If only there was a way to forget.

Since my car was totaled, I had to buy a new one and I decided to go for a Camaro, which I knew he'd love. He's been Googling that car for weeks, admiring the pictures of the baby that was almost as blue and pretty as his eyes. Almost. Nothing could ever compare to those perfect aquamarine gems that I had all for myself.

He was either stupid enough not to delete the history or he'd been giving me subtle hints and only made me think of him as stupid. Or made me think that I think he's stupid. This thought process is getting rather confusing and going in the completely different direction than I wanted it to.

I breathed out in relief once it was all over. I had to keep calm to give Damon the right directions lest we wanted to get lost in the middle of nowhere and become lunch for a pack of starving wolves that lurked around the forest. So far my thoughts managed to distract me long enough.

Finally we parked in front of a large house. Damon's eyes went wide, observing it, absorbing its absolute beauty. It was an old boarding house, built many years ago and still in perfect condition, as good as new.

"Impressed?" I asked with a giggle.

"We visiting a rich friend of yours?" Damon inquired, furrowing his brows.

"Something like that."

I unlocked the door and allowed him to step inside first, following right behind. He looked around in amazement, his eyes scanning every inch, every surface of the large property. The furniture was old fashioned, in pristine condition, clean and ready to be used.

"You like?" I inquired.

Damon glanced at me. "I don't understand," he said, raising his hands in defeat. "What are you saying?"

"I promised you a surprise. Well, surprise!" I exclaimed, gesturing around with my hands.

He widened his eyes as realization set in. "You bought me a house?"

"Technically, it's a boarding house, but yes," I clarified. "It's all yours."

Slaves couldn't actually own any property, so I signed a contract (with Elijah's help, of course) that, until Damon was freed, I would be the owner.

When my parents died, Jeremy and I inherited all their wealth, all properties and everything else they had in their possession. Since they hadn't officially disowned me before their death, I was granted half their goods; the other half was under Jenna's control until Jeremy turned eighteen. I decided to put some of that insane amount of money to good use and, along with the Camaro, bought a house I thought Damon would like. He deserved that much for putting up with me and my insane family for all those months.

"But I can't-" Damon stuttered, still in awe.

"Own it. I know," I said. "I took care of that, too. The house is technically mine until you're freed. Once I sign the papers, it'll automatically go to you. It's all in the contract."

He took me by the hand, leaning over so close that I couldn't help but glue my eyes to his irresistible lips that seemed to be calling for me, begging me to kiss them. "You did this for me?" he asked, his voice tender, a soft melody radiating with gratitude and love.

"Who else?" I said. There was no one else but him for me. "I was thinking we could call it the Salvatore Mansion. I'd say the name fits. What do you think?"

"You are a goddess!" he said, pulling me close, crashing his lips against mine, and pinning me up against the wall in a make-out session I wished would last forever. If I'd known this was his way of expressing gratitude, I would've showered him with little gifts and presents every single day.

"I take it you like it," I panted.

"I love it," he said. "And I love you."

"Hm." Someone cleared their throat and we jumped apart, startled by the newcomer's presence. Elijah stood at the door with that ever-stoic look on his face, a manila folder in his hands, clad in that suit he never seemed to get out of. I imagined his closet consisted of dozens of identical suits, all, no doubt, expensive as hell. "I was informed I'd find you here by Miss… Summers, is it?"

"Sommers," I corrected. "What brings you here, Mr. Mikaelson?"

"I come bearing good news," he replied, gesturing to a nearby table. "Shall we?"

I nodded and we all took a seat. I offered to make coffee (did this house even have coffee? I wasn't sure, but it seemed like a polite offer to make), but Elijah declined, saying he had more pressing matters to attend to and wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. He took some papers out of his manila folder, pushing them over to me, a pen in his hand ready to be handed over for me to sign.

I looked over the papers, my grin widening as I swallowed sentences in impeccable speed. Damon looked over my shoulder, he, too, joyous of the news. Elijah's finally done it; he's worked his magic and Damon was only one signature away from complete and utter freedom.

"All good?" Elijah inquired once we've finished with the documents, and we both nodded. "Sign here." He pointed to a few lines at the bottom of each paper, handing me his pen.

I exchanged a glance with Damon, deciding to tease him a little, playing reluctant, a smirk playing on my lips.

"What are we, twelve?" he asked, doing that sexy eyebrow thing of his.

"One of us is," I replied, giggling, and then signed the papers a little too quickly.

"Congratulations, Mr. Salvatore. You are, as of now, a free man," Elijah said, shaking both our hands.

"Thank you!" I pulled him into a hug, which baffled him, but he let it go, uncomfortably tapping my back.

"Thank you," Damon said with a slight, grateful nod.

"I was just doing my job." He gave a small look-over to the large estate. "I presume this is all yours now, Mr. Salvatore. Once again, congratulations. It was pleasure doing business with you."

I went for my purse and handed Elijah a check I was clinging to, my parting gift to a man who'd done so much to help me and my loved one. "Would this be enough for your services?"

"More than enough," Elijah said politely, looking over the amount I've granted him. "Thank you. Have a nice day."

* * *

><p>It was of no surprise to me that Damon would pick the largest room in the house to claim as his own. Ours, as he'd said. I had no doubt in my mind we'd be spending more time here than anywhere else.<p>

"I cannot believe you did that," he said, throwing me onto a king-sized bed covered in soft, delicate silky sheets.

"Anything for you," I replied, pulling him on top of me, kissing him. For him, it was worth it. All of it, every single penny was worth it.

Damon was finally happy now, and when he was happy, I was happy. The trial was abruptly cancelled due to my parents' sudden deaths and even though it was me who initiated it, I was glad it was finally over. He was a free man, allowed to do as he pleased. He no longer had an obligation to respond to anyone but himself. Not that he ever did, but at least now he wasn't legally inclined to anymore.

"So, Mr. Free Man, what are you gonna do now?" I asked as he placed tender kisses to my neck, gently suckling on my skin. After that horrible biting incident, I'd asked him to be a bit more careful. I didn't want to walk around all bruised. People tend to make up all sorts of stories about a girl who's walking the streets with a bruised neck hand in hand with her boyfriend who just happened to be a slave.

To my surprise, Damon actually obeyed.

"Now I'm gonna express my gratitude to the woman I love, and give her the night of her life," he said, that sexy eyebrow thing on.

I giggled, cupping his face and pressing a firm kiss to his lips.

"Are you sure about this? About us?" he suddenly said, looking me straight in the eye. "You know you can't fix what's broken."

"Doesn't mean I won't try," I responded, pulling him in for another kiss. There it was again, my ability (or rather disability) to see the good in the worst, my desire to fix the one that got broken too many times. Still, I wasn't about to give up on him. _Never_ on him. He was special, and I would do my best to help him.

So far I think I've done a nice job.

"I think I'll start right now," I added, deepening the kiss. My fingers danced through his hair, feeling it, pulling at it, but he didn't mind.

He turned me over, pinning me to the bed, his kisses getting harder, stronger, aggressive. We were a tornado in the making, a perfect storm brewing, a whirlpool of emotions swirling around us, passion oozing out of our every pore. I melted under his touch, completely at his mercy. My body begged for more, craving him, desiring him, and my legs opened to let him in.

He tasted so sweet, like honey, his addictive kisses completely taking me over, intoxicating me and leaving me breathless. Nothing else mattered but us. We were the center of the universe, our love its ruler, our passion its law, our flaming, wild lust its force. Fire rushed through my veins, burning its way to my heart, the entirety of me aching in heat of desire and hunger for him.

Memories of past horrors vanished, replaced by immense pleasure out of my reach, out of my control. Damon was all I wanted, all I needed. I had pain and he'd kissed it away. For as long as I had him, I knew I would be safe from the past's merciless grasp. Once I thought he'd be my curse; now he was my blessing, my savior just as I was his.

We used to be two desperate souls in need of love that happened to meet at the wrong time and at the wrong place, and yet all that wrong somehow turned out to be so, so right and made us the happiest couple in the world. We may not have been healthy; our love was toxic, dangerous, torture at times, but still, we ravished it, devoured it, and ravaged it the way specific only to the two of us.

He'd push my buttons and I'd push his; he'd challenge me and I'd challenge him; he'd bring out the best and the worst of me; I'd push him away, then pull him back; he'd drive me crazy and leave me breathless; I'd cry and he'd comfort me; he'd get hurt and I'd hold him; we'd cry and we'd laugh, and if given a chance we'd make those same mistakes all over again because everything, every single tear, every cut and bruise was worth it.

That's what made us, Damon Salvatore and Elena Gilbert, so special. That's what made this mad, mad love the truest of them all.


	17. The Right Kind of Wrong

**Huge thanks to reviewers, both new and old! Special thanks to teamfreewill82. You rock!**

**I'm reading book 6 of TVD and there's a part where Elena, Bonnie and Meredith pretend to be Damon's slaves to get into Dark Dimension. I instantly remembered this fic.**

**This chapter is named after a song by ****LeAnn Rimes. **

* * *

><p><em>I'm hooked on you<em>

_I need a fix, I can't take it_

_Just one more hit_

_I promise I can deal with it_

_I'll handle it, quit it_

_Just one more time, then that's it_

_Just a little bit more to get me through this_

_~ Addicted by Kelly Clarkson_

* * *

><p><strong>~ The Right Kind of Wrong ~<strong>

* * *

><p>Many slaves leave their owners once they're freed. Damon, however, stayed, and he stayed with style. I moved into the mansion that now belonged to him, though we mostly occupied his insanely large bedroom (no surprise there). We were in this wonderland of joy, our own little paradise, private and so, so beautiful. It was more than I could ever hope for, more than I could imagine.<p>

I slipped into my cherry-red dress that I'd picked specifically for prom, admiring the view in the mirror. I looked quite good, if I dare say so. Prom is a one-time event only; I figured I'd dress up accordingly, and I didn't want to embarrass my beautiful date by showing up in rags.

Damon snuck up from behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in for a light kiss. I giggled, relaxing in his arms, allowing him to fully embrace me. I was completely at his mercy and he used that dominance to shower me with kisses I couldn't have loved more if I wanted to. I've kissed many boys in my short lifetime, but he was divine. No one could ever compare to the beauty and royal poise that was him.

"You look-" I started, observing his tall, handsome figure clad in a suit I'd recently bought him in the mirror.

"Dashing, gorgeous, irresistible?" he finished, eyebrows raised.

"When you put it like that…" I trailed off, pecking his cheek.

He pushed me against the wall, his tongue dancing over my delicate skin, slowly descending to my neck. He gently suckled on it and I gasped, for a moment completely overtaken by endorphins his irresistible lips provoked within me, that familiar heat rushing through my veins and burning its way through my entire body. "Stop," I said, when all I wanted was for him to keep going, play the game till the end. "Not now. We have places to be."

"You're no fun," he whined, but stepped back, arms raised in defeat. That was one of the many things I adored about him; he listened when I said stop, backed away when I declined and respected my refusal. Most guys would just keep on with it, try to persuade me into giving in, but not him. Never him. He had enough decency to stop when I told him to.

"And _you_ are a pervert," I said teasingly. The truth is, we were both perverts; huge, uncontrollable ones, a dangerous combo for a relationship as wild as ours.

"Look who's talking," he retorted jokingly, before sneaking another kiss. I stared at him and he reluctantly shrugged. "I'll be good." My stare deepened. "I promise."

* * *

><p>To say everyone at the prom was shocked to see Damon as my date would be the understatement of the century. People gasped, surprised, some even flinching and moving aside as we passed by, hand in hand, our faces wearing the biggest, greatest of smiles. Old Elena would probably be embarrassed about the entire situation. This new and improved and very much in love Elena was proud.<p>

They could call me _slave whore_ all they wanted. Damon was a free man now, and even if he wasn't, I didn't give a damn. There's this funny thing about love; you tend to give yourself over to it completely, and everything else, all bad words and insults, is just meaningless, empty background noise. If they'd spent one night with him, they'd understand what kind of power he has and how devoted he is to the person he loves.

Music was a bit too loud for my liking, but Damon got into it rather quickly. He was at the dancefloor right away, his hips swaying, hands holding mine and swirling me around like a ballerina. I wasn't much of a dancer, but he – my goodness, he was a god. No one could compare. The rest just watched in awe, observed how we moved, how we rubbed our bodied against one another, every now and then sneaking in a kiss just to rub it in their judge-y little faces.

Damon pulled me close and crashed his lips into mine, swallowing me, sending me into a frenzy of wild desire. Everyone's eyes were on us, but we didn't care; we danced, and we kissed, and we proudly showed our love off to the world.

I could see Matt dance with April, a girl I didn't really know much about. They seemed to be having fun and I wasn't about to ruin it. Matt being happy was good; almost too good to be true. He'd finally let go of me and moved on, even for just one night.

I was, however, surprised to see Bonnie and Jeremy together on the dancefloor. I had to admit that they looked kinda cute together. It was nice of my brother to finally clean up his life and learn some responsibility. Bonnie will be a good influence on him.

Caroline was off all the way back with Tyler, dancing her ass off, winking at me and giving me thumbs up when Tyler wasn't looking. I couldn't suppress a smile; Caroline would always be Caroline. Nothing new in that department.

"Hey," I was greeted by a familiar voice, and soon Jenna's arms were around me. "I see you're having fun."

"Of course she is. She's with _me,"_ Damon stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ass," Jenna snarked.

"Bitch," Damon retorted with a wink, prompting her to smile.

"Hello, Elena," Alaric said, appearing behind Jenna. His eyes locked with Damon's and for a short moment the two stared at each other before finally shaking hands. "I'm Alaric."

"Damon."

Out the corner of my eyes I could see Rebekah chatting with someone, her usual posse of bitchy girls nowhere in sight. The man by her side was tall and handsome, his skin the fine color of chocolate, looking every bit as ravishing and handsome.

"Guys," I said, interrupting a conversation between Damon and Ric; the two seemed to instantly hit it off. I could imagine friendship blooming between them. "There is one thing I have to do. I'll be right back."

They waved me off, continuing their chatter as though I'd said nothing. I walked up to Rebekah and straight up hugged her, to the shock of everyone present. The man beside her frowned, obviously startled; it was only now that I noticed just how pretty he was, his facial features almost angelic.

"You don't let go of me, Elena, I'm gonna rip off your arms and toss them in a blender," Rebekah hissed.

"Sorry," I said, backing off. "I just wanted to say thank you – for everything. You really helped."

She glanced back to where Ric and Damon were laughing about something whilst Jenna was rolling her eyes, and then turned her eyes back to me. "You're welcome."

"Damon's free," I said excitedly. "I'm sure Elijah already told you, but I wanted to tell you in person. Once again, thank you."

"It was nothing," Rebekah said, sighing. Then she nodded at the man beside her, prompting him to step forward. "This is Marcel."

"Hi," I said, shaking his hand. "I'm Elena. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he replied, a charming smile playing on his lips. _Nice going, Rebekah!_ He seemed to be quite a sweetheart.

"He's free, too," Rebekah beamed. "Elijah did it." She turned to Marcel, pressing her lips to his.

Feeling like a discarded third wheel, I walked away, finding my way back to Damon. He and Ric were still engaged in that little talk of theirs, which probably consisted of something dirty, if Jenna's expressions were of any indication. Looking back to my former-bully-now-turned-frenemy's make-out session, I couldn't help but feel strange, my body convulsing in unusual ways, ways I'd gotten so familiar with that I instantly recognized the symptoms.

Withdrawal.

Funny how I made Damon promise to be good, and now I was the one who couldn't resist touching him, couldn't keep my hands off. I had to have him, and I had to have him now.

"Damon, can we talk?" I asked, pulling at his arm as I passed by Ric, slowly, but discreetly picking at his pocket. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

"Sure," Damon said, frowning, confused at my sudden request.

I led him into the school. The hallways were completely empty, all party on the outside, loud music blasting all around. _Perfect._ I pushed Damon against one of the lockers and smacked my lips to his, giving myself over to the pleasure. He didn't complain, though; he played the game as perfectly as always, pushed just the right buttons, touched just the right places he knew would arouse me.

"Thought you wanted _me_ to be good," he commented, but kept on placing kisses on my neck, descending to my cleavage before finally settling just below my breasts.

I held up the key I snatched from Alaric and Damon smirked, proud of my rebellious ways. We barged in and I locked the door, throwing myself at him at lightning speed, his back leaning against one of the desks.

"Ooh, feisty," he teased with a wink.

"Just stop talking," I demanded, pressing a hard, rough kiss to his lips to shut him up, a kiss which he reciprocated with pleasure.

Adrenaline was rushing through me, fueling my desire as he let me lead for once, let me be in charge. He relaxed, overpowered by my arms gripping him tight, pinning him down against the hard wood with strength I was unaware I possessed until now. My tongue danced along his skin, its light, tender touches sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.

He used to be Katherine's bitch in every sense of the word. Now he was my bitch, and I was his. And I wished for it to stay that way.

I knew what I was getting into from the moment I saw him, the moment those gorgeous blue eyes connected with mine for the very first time. I was aware it would be quite a ride for the both of us, a rollercoaster of danger and despair, a path filled with thorns. Yet I didn't give up; I wanted to, tried to resist it with all my heart, with my entire being, but the more I pushed him back, the stronger my craving for him was, and in the end I couldn't get my hands off him.

He was pure magic, so deliciously dangerous and tempting, yet at the same time wonderful and caring. He'd given me what no one else ever could: passion, adventure, danger, a love that consumed me and will keep on consuming me till the very end.

I let him strip me of my dress and slipped off his coat and shirt, devouring the sight of his shirtless grace. He may have been covered in horrid scars, but for some reason they added to his bad boy image, made him all the more attractive and appealing. My fingers traced each and every scar, followed by my lips placing small kisses over them as though this small display of affection would somehow make them disappear.

I remembered slapping him and instantly regretting it. I still felt guilty about it, though I tried my hardest not to think about it when he had obviously forgiven me long ago. It was the lowest I'd ever sunk. I'd promised myself to never lay a hand on him again and so far I was managing. The last thing I wanted was for this to turn into an abusive relationship; it may have been toxic as hell, dangerous up to eleven, but abusive? Never.

That was all in the past. He's not a slave anymore and I'm not his master. I have no right to even look at him wrong. We all make mistakes, and I've worked hard to make mine right. I won't let all that hard work go to waste. Damon deserved the best, all love he had been missing for the entirety of his enslaved life, and I was going to give it to him. I was going to show him the world he should have been in from the start, the world he was still trying so hard to adjust to.

Before he had to have my written permission to even buy a bottle of bourbon at a store. Now he could do as he pleased and when he pleased without anyone even batting an eye. He had a life of joy in front of him, life he had chosen to share with me, and I wasn't going to ruin it. I was going to show him how to live it to the fullest.

"Elena," he panted, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I realized I'd bitten into his neck, drawing blood. I was about to apologize when he pressed his finger over my lips and leaned into my neck, his teeth sinking into my skin. I let out a breath I'd been holding on to for so long, a surge of delight overcoming me.

I stood frozen in his grasp as he sucked on, my heart racing, heat rising to the boiling point. My body was a scrambled mess of emotions, once again under his control, begging him for more, inviting him in.

School was finally over. From now on it's all fun, fun, fun. And sex with Damon; _lots_ of sex with Damon. For all I knew, we could barricade ourselves in the mansion and stay there forever in each other's arms, safe and protected, away from all harm and judgment that this cruel, vicious world bestowed upon us.

He'd been there for me when I needed him most, comforted me when I was at my worst, and saved me from the darkness that was only an inch away from taking me away forever. He held me, cradled my injured, wet body as though I was a fragile little child, carried me away from the river that would've been the death of me had he not been there, had he not fought for my safety.

He could've died, yet he still insisted to stay underwater, clung to the last bits of strength he had and fought against the burning sensation that ripped at his lungs, all for me. He stayed by my side, soothed my tears, whispered away all my fears, even attended the funeral of the very people who'd caused him so much harm, so much pain.

All for me. All for my sake.

What have I done to deserve such a man in my life?

Him thrusting into me snapped me to reality. His hardness captivated me, mesmerized me, my legs spreading on impulse, inviting him further in. A true god he was, a deity of my very own, existing solely for my pleasure and my pleasure only. He was magnificent, so heavenly it hurt, yet so damned and full of darkness that for some inexplicable reason sucked me in, made me fall from grace just to be with him, tucked safely under his dark, demonic wings of pain and sorrow.

He was beautiful, and he was a disaster. But he was my beautiful disaster.

I couldn't tame him; I didn't want to tame him, but I could understand him, and he could understand me. We may have been cursed, but we were also blessed. Our love, devotion and passion were the sole proof of that.

Sudden loud bangs startled us and we looked over to the door. "I know you took my key, Elena," Ric said. "I want it back."

"Not now," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, my breath still shaky from the wild ride I was amidst of.

"You can get me in trouble."

"You _will_ be in trouble if you don't get lost!" Damon barked in a threatening tone, and I couldn't suppress a laugh. There are two rules to abide when it comes to him: don't touch his bourbon, and don't, under any circumstances, interrupt him when he's having sex, especially when he's having sex with _me._

"What are you doing?" Ric asked, suddenly suspicious. Then realization dawned on him, and I could practically hear him facepalm as his expression turned into that of pure and utter disgust. "You aren't…."

"Would you mind?" I said a bit too harshly. Damon and I may have been making love in all the wrong places, but we didn't need a teacher present. A goddamn _teacher!_ It was wrong enough as it was. Even if that teacher happened to be a friend and my aunt's boyfriend, I didn't want him anywhere near in the middle of an extremely satisfying intercourse.

And neither did my very pissed off boyfriend.

"I just want my key back."

"You'll get it when we're done. Now scram!" Damon ordered. "Unless you wanna join in; I'm always up for a good threesome. What do you say, Elena?"

I glared at him, rolling my eyes at his sexy eyebrow-wiggle-thing. Leave it to him to be a pervert. Some things never change.

"We're just about to-"

"Spare me the details, I'm gone," Ric quickly said, cutting him off, and walked away, the sound of his footsteps getting quieter until he was completely gone.

"Now where were we?" Damon purred.

I allowed myself a tight smile before locking my lips back with his. The mood may have been ruined for a short while, but it was back right on, the feeling ever so gracious. We let ourselves get lost in a wonderland of emotions, the storm that was our passion brewing, getting stronger every moment until we reached the climax, forever lost amidst a raging tornado.

It was a tornado I would gladly be trapped in for eternity.

* * *

><p>"You're really gonna do this?"<p>

"Sure. Why not?" Damon stated, smirking like an evil, corruptive creature that he was. I swear, that man is going to be the death of me.

"You're an ass."

He looked at me, a playful, daring look in his eyes. "I know," he whispered, almost like a purr, the mere tone of his voice sending a swarm of shivers over my skin, and I had to take a deep breath to calm down, to prepare for what he was about to do because he's a jackass, and that's what jackasses do.

We approached Ric and Jenna, my face red with shame in their presence, my body and mind and soul screaming at me to get the hell away because this was so damn embarrassing and Damon being _Damon _wasn't helping matters.

My ever so charming boyfriend lifted the key, swinging it before Ric's face, his eyebrows raised in a mocking way he was probably born with because he's Damon fucking Salvatore and the entire point of his existence is to mock people.

"Your key, as you kindly requested," Damon said sweetly, in this friendly, warm voice we all knew was fake as hell and only served to make fun of Ric just for the hell of it.

Gulping, Ric took the key using the tips of his fingers, slipping it into his pocket with incredible speed just so he doesn't have to touch it anymore. Damn. Who knew it'd make him so uncomfortable? That only made me even more uncomfortable, and I already was in the great state of discomfort from the start.

Jenna looked confused, her eyes darting from Ric to Damon to me, then back to her date. "What's going on?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow in suspicion, her eyes narrowing and making her look strangely like that detective on TV who always dramatically puts on his sunglasses after saying an epic one-liner, which is usually followed by that catchy theme song that everyone always makes fun of.

"Nothing!" Ric and I fired at the same time, much to Damon's amusement.

"Right…" Jenna trailed off, obviously not believing us, then looked over to Damon's amused smirk. It didn't take her long to figure out just what the hell happened and when she did, her mouth took on the shape of a giant, gaping _O_ before she burst into giggles and laughter like some immature schoolgirl. "You didn't."

"We _so_ did," Damon confirmed cockily, doing that wiggly-eyebrow thing that I'm so fond of.

"Excuse me. I'm gonna go wash this," Ric said through gritted teeth, pointing to his key-hiding pocket, "and then I'm gonna find the cleaning crew and tell them to take extra measures to disinfect my classroom."

"Good luck with that," Damon chirped, not able to resist a chance to piss off my already pissed off History teacher. "Just a word of warning: tell them to use bleach. _Lots_ of it."

Ric rolled his eyes with a huff before disappearing into the crowd. Jenna looked at us, frowning, trying so hard to look mad, but failing greatly. When she couldn't take it anymore, she allowed herself a laugh, shaking her head in what was supposed to be disapproval, but looked weirdly like teasing.

"Why his classroom?" she inquired.

I shrugged, my cheeks slowly fading back to their normal color. "He was the only teacher I could get away with stealing from."

And it made me feel rebellious, but they didn't need to know that. Damon was such a terrible influence on me, so corruptive and rotten to the very core, and I loved every part of it. Every second he spread his badness to me gave me the highest of thrills and I wouldn't change it for the world.

"That's my girl!" Damon praised, planting a peck to my lips, his grin wide and the most beautiful I've ever seen it.

Who knew being bad would feel so fucking good?

* * *

><p><strong>Yup, that's a CSI: Miami reference, in case you were wondering. I couldn't resist. Jenna would make a fine Horatio.<strong>

**Just two more chapters – an epilogue and a surprise chapter. You'll see what I mean when we get there. Review and it'll be here in no time!**


	18. Epilogue: Forever

**Here we are, folks: the very last chapter before the surprise. Enjoy!**

**Shameless self-promotion: I wrote a Delena oneshot called Bonded – pretty, pretty please with Damon on top, check it out.**

**Listen to Taylor Swift's How You Get the Girl and Mine whilst reading this chapter, especially the ending.**

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><p><em>You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter<em>

_You are the best thing that's ever been mine_

_~ Mine by Taylor Swift_

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><p><strong>~ Forever ~<strong>

* * *

><p>Years and years have passed, life moved on with impeccable speed, days passing by in a heartbeat.<p>

I found myself in medicine. Many people thought I'd followed in my parents' footsteps, but the truth is, being a doctor was always kind of my dream job. I was drawn to broken boys and wanted to fix them; hell, I successfully fixed the one that was with me. I wanted to help people; always have, always will. This job and I were obviously meant to be.

I finished college in record time and got a job in Mystic Falls Hospital. I worked long hours, but still, I had enough time with Damon. Sometimes he'd visit me during lunch breaks and we'd enjoy our lunch in the nearest bathroom stall we'd find.

Life was good.

No one wanted to employ an ex-slave, so Damon mostly stayed at home. I didn't mind, though; my pay was more than enough for the both of us, and my parents' inheritance would be enough to secure us for life if I was to ever have the misfortune of losing my job. I had to say, my boyfriend made quite a good housewife. Or househusband, whatever it's called.

Jeremy and Bonnie have recently gotten married. Who would have thought they would eventually hook up? After finishing college, Bonnie got herself a job as an Occult teacher at Whitmore College just outside of town. Strange, right? Then again, she was always into that sort of thing. I think she mentioned once that she found herself in Wicca.

Jeremy never went to college, instead employing himself at the Grill. That place may have been a dump constantly filled with teenagers that were wilder than we ever were (and that's saying something considering my generation was declared to be the wildest of them all), but he was happy working there, so who was I to complain? Everything's great as long as he's content.

Alaric and Jenna have also gotten married. Jenna is currently expecting and, according to the doctor, she's with twins. Neither of them knew whether to grieve or rejoice. One child is a big responsibility – two are a mess. But I had no doubt in my mind they'd sort it out. They always worked everything out in the end.

Matt worked as a police officer under Sheriff Forbes' command, and Caroline successfully opened her own boutique. She and Tyler aren't together anymore; after many ups and downs they decided to stay friends, and so far it's been working well for them. Tyler has recently become smitten with a new girl in town, Liv, and Caroline's been very supportive of the blooming romance.

Every now and then I'd see Elijah on the street. Sometimes he and his wife, Hayley, would visit Damon and me with their Hope (who's all grown up now and a frequent guest at the Grill) and we'd have a delightful chat whilst drinking coffee (or, in Damon's case, bourbon. It's always bourbon for him). They were a lovely couple, a perfect, happy little family, and I wished them the best.

From what Elijah's told me, Rebekah and Marcel are traveling around the world, spending her share of the money she'd inherited after their parents' demise five years ago, much to their controlling brother's, Klaus', dismay. She moved away after finishing high school and I haven't seen nor heard from her since.

I felt good knowing she's alright; after all, it was her help that allowed all this to happen, that allowed all these dreams to come true. She may have been a bully in the past, but I'd say her actions earned her my full forgiveness.

Laws have changed in the past ten years. Slaves have gotten much more freedom, had more rights than ever. We were heading in the right direction. Maybe one day slavery will be banned and abolished once and for all. One can only hope.

Damon and I still live together; we're practically spouses, only without the papers and rings. Neither of us is the marriage type so we decided to live life as it is. Marriage is just a paper, anyway. In the eyes of law, we were a couple with almost the same rights married couples have.

Also, we had no kids. That was another thing we agreed on: no kids since neither of us liked them nor had enough patience for tantrums that would surely ensue had one of them happened to be born.

We remained together, side by side. We've had many differences over the years, many disagreements and screw-ups, drove each other to the edge of insanity countless of times, but one thing remained the same - our love. It's still as pure as it was ten years ago, great and powerful, the truest of them all.

I hope it will remain that way till the end of time.

Today is a very special day – Damon and my tenth year anniversary. It was exactly ten years ago that we've met, ten years since I sauntered into my then-home to find a broken, untamable man waiting for me there, presented to me as a birthday gift by my neglectful, cruel parents.

He's still difficult as hell, can't be tamed, pushes my buttons first chance he gets, but I knew what I was getting into from the start and not once have I regretted it. I ravished it, reveled in it, enjoyed this mad love to the fullest. We are still tangled in that masochism tango we've started all those years ago, only now we know the right moves, dance it with pleasure and completely give ourselves over to its delightful pace.

"Happy birthday!" a choir of voices erupted as I stepped into the mansion. My lips curled into the biggest and brightest of smiles at the sight before me. All of my nearest and dearest were here: Jenna and Alaric hand in hand, Caroline in a usually short dress and high heels, Elijah, Hayley and Hope clapping, Tyler and Liv smiling, Mat beaming, and Bonnie and Jeremy looking the happiest of them all.

My palms instinctively covered my mouth, hiding a small gasp. There looked to be many great presents for me to open, snacks and drinks all around, no doubt most of it some kind of alcohol (probably bourbon). It looked more like a teenage birthday party, but even as a 28-year-old woman I loved it. It kind of reminded me of my childhood innocence, naivety, and made me a bit nostalgic for those times.

But then I remembered that I didn't have Damon back then and all nostalgia vanished in an instant, replaced by everlasting joy.

I exchanged hugs and kisses on cheeks with everyone, even Liv, whom I still didn't know very well, but I was growing to like her. She and Tyler made a lovely couple, and she didn't seem half bad a person.

"Do we get to eat the cake now?" Jenna asked impatiently, rubbing her very swollen belly. Another one of the many reasons I planned on never having children – pregnancy came with hunger, which required lots of food at all times, which resulted in weight gain that I wasn't willing to let myself fall into.

I knew Damon wouldn't mind. He'd still love me all the same, no matter how fat or tired or constantly grouchy I would be. I, however, wasn't willing to put myself through that kind of torture. Seeing my aunt look close to death on a daily basis was a major turn off from even the thoughts of pregnancy.

Jenna looked like a balloon. Not that I'd ever have the guts to tell her that; turns out pregnant woman on hormones make quite a deadly weapon. Damon found that out first hand when he made a comment about her growing stomach and a shirt that used to fit her well that was now getting a bit too tight; she threw the remote at him and missed his head by only an inch.

Since then, he's mostly been watching his tongue.

_Mostly._

"Careful, Jenna, that shirt looked a lot bigger last time I saw you in it. Or is it you that's gotten bigger?" Damn teased, prompting her to point a forefinger at him in a threatening manner.

"Watch it, Salvatore. I can take you."

"Don't I know it," Damon remarked, a mocking grin playing on his handsome face, before turning to me and presenting me with the most beautiful kiss I've had the privilege of tasting in ages. It was sweet, gentle, tender, a complete opposite to his usual devouring of my lips. I adored the roughness, but this right now somehow felt more private, natural, much more appropriate for the occasion. "Happy birthday, baby."

He only called me _baby_ at special times, each time making my heart melt. The way he says it is always so delicate, cute in a Damon Salvatore way I still couldn't quite decipher. I knew, however, that he loved me just as much as I loved him, if not more, and that's all that mattered.

"Happy anniversary," I whispered into his ear. His eyes locked with mine, radiating with joy, no doubt remembering the very first time they laid on me. Back then there was hatred in them, a challenge I was quick to accept, a dare that turned out to be so damn good and worth it that I don't regret a thing.

Now his pretty aquamarine eyes looked at me with love and care, devoured me in ways no one else's could, and made me do things I never even dreamed of doing.

All those dares have become sort of a ritual of ours, a game we both enjoyed, foreplay we gladly gave into, leading to the greatest pleasure of them all. Even now, in a house full of people, I wished to rip those leather pants and black T-shirt right off him and celebrate our anniversary and my birthday the way I knew we'd both enjoy.

Somehow that didn't seem appropriate. Though I doubted Damon would mind; he never had any objections when it came to exchanging private touches and engaging in public displays of affection. That was, just like everything else regarding us, a game for him, a challenge he was always ready to give into.

"Thought you forgot," he said softly, and I smiled, caressing his cheek.

"When have I ever?" I asked, leaning into another kiss.

"Come on, lovebirds, get it over with. Some of us are hungry," Jenna whined.

"Someone's cranky," Damon snarked.

I let out a chuckle. "Tell me about it. Poor Ric."

"I heard that," Jenna remarked.

Damon rolled his eyes. "I know," he retorted.

He and Ric have grown rather close, their friendship strong. I often found them drinking bourbon together, laughing about things I didn't bother questioning. Not that they'd ever tell me. There are things you only share with your friends; I'd know as I do the same with Bonnie and Caroline.

I remembered the conversation I walked into one day and my smile returned bigger than ever.

* * *

><p><em>It was winter, just a few days before Christmas. The entire town was covered in thick layers of snow, pearly whiteness glowing in the dark, giving it a magical, mystical feel. I'd just returned home from work and was about to greet Damon with a kiss as I always did, when I saw them.<em>

_He and Alaric were in the living room, seated on the couches opposite one another, both holding a glass of bourbon in their hands. They were laughing, engaged in a conversation I couldn't quite make out from the distance as their laughter clouded their words. I did, however, manage to hear bits and pieces, but even that was enough to send my body into an overdrive of happiness._

_"I got the girl," Damon said, taking a sip of his drink._

_"That you did," Ric agreed, tapping his friend's shoulder. He was obviously more than happy for him (or maybe a bit tipsy and only came off that way. I couldn't be sure), offering support he knew Damon needed. "She's happy."_

_"She is. I'm happy, too. I hope it lasts forever," Damon admitted._

_"It will. You guys are perfect for each other. Trust me – I know Elena Gilbert since she was fifteen. No one could ever get away with pushing her buttons like you do. If she's put up with it for all these years, she's not going anywhere."_

_Leave it to Ric to turn a compliment into an insult. Intentional or not, I couldn't tell. I presumed it was another one of those "guy" things I could never quite get the grasp of (though it was probably for the better)._

_"True that," Damon said._

_They clicked their glasses and swallowed what was left of their bourbon in one gulp._

_Damon's expression suddenly grew serious, a sudden change which Ric was quick to take notice of._

_"What's wrong?"_

_"I've been thinking about my brother lately," Damon said sadly._

_We've been searching for Stefan for years now, but he was nowhere to be found. Katherine apparently sold him ages ago, and we couldn't find any info on his current whereabouts. It took a lot out of Damon. He'd hoped to free his brother just as he was freed and relieve him of a terrible lifetime in slavery that surely awaited him._

_I felt a bit guilty. It was me who talked him into looking for Stefan; it was me who suggested we buy him and then ask for Elijah's help to free him. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I could see just how much it hurt my boyfriend to be away from his brother and not know where he is. It was easier for him when he wasn't thinking about Stefan; it's always easier to deal with the problem if you ignore it._

_Damon was, after all, only human._

_"Wherever he is, you can only hope he's happy," Ric said warmly, giving Damon's shoulder a gentle, friendly squeeze. Damon smiled a little. That wasn't very likely, but I wasn't going to be the one to burst that little bubble of hope he clung to, not now that he's allowed himself to let it go for at least a little bit. "You shouldn't worry. I don't know Stefan, but from what you told me I'm sure he wouldn't want you to be miserable."_

_"That he wouldn't," Damon agreed._

_"Just relax, spend time with your girl, and be happy. You deserve it."_

_They proceeded to refill their glasses and took short sips before I felt brave enough to reveal my presence. When Damon hugged me that day and kissed me like his life depended on it, I knew Ric's words have gotten to him, and they've gotten to him hard._

_For that I could only be grateful._

* * *

><p>The party lasted until lonely late hours. It was two in the morning when everyone left, leaving our house a mess I haven't witnessed since I was a teenager at some stranger's party when their parents were away. Now I knew how those poor unknown guys felt when everyone left without even offering help to clean up. You know what they say: karma's a bitch.<p>

Damon and I decided the mess could wait. Our sleep was way more important. We took a quick shower and slipped into our bed, curled in each other's arms just like we were every night. My head was resting on his chest, his heart gently beating against my cheek, giving it small, tender caresses.

It's finally happened; we've gotten our very own happy ending. True, things weren't always easy. They probably never will be easy, otherwise this magnificent drama queen of a bitch that controlled everything wouldn't be called life. I was careful, he was careless. I was a nice girl, he was a rebel. That's what made us work, what will always make us work. You don't get the perfect storm without both rain and wind; it just doesn't work like that.

He was wind to my rain, hell to my heaven, sin to my virtue. It was nature's number one rule – balance – and we lived by it, respected it, and abided it.

"Damon, promise me something," I said, clasping my hand over his and entangling our fingers.

"Anything," he replied, giving our hands a light, supportive squeeze.

"Promise me this is forever."

"I promise," he said, accompanying his statement with that cute little eyebrow-waggle he knew I adored. "We, Damon Salvatore and Elena Gilbert, will be forever."

With that he pressed his lips to mine, expressing himself the only way he knew how. It felt better, in a way, to hear him say it. I know nothing is forever, but I also know that we'll do our best to make it last for as long as possible. Neither of us planned to die anytime soon, and I'm pretty sure fate, destiny, or whatever that controlling bitch in charge of our lives is called isn't that cruel to separate us now that we've got everything going for us.

At the very beginning I had to earn his friendship, and I ended up winning his heart. He got the girl, and I got the boy; for worse or for better, forever and ever, in hell and heaven. Guess that's how it works.

That's how you get the one you love most.

Forever.

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><p><strong>Stay tuned. This may be the end to their story, but there's an extra-long surprise chapter coming next. It's got lots of Damon in it. Lots! I think you'll love it.<strong>

**Please review. I really like reading your thoughts and, unfortunately, I only had four people tell me theirs for the last chapter. Your support means a lot!**

**About Elena being the one supporting Damon: it's always the man that works and brings home money, and the woman stays at home as a housewife. I decided to turn it around a bit, reverse the genders just for fun. And also, I had no ideas where to employ Damon, so I went with this instead.**

**As for Stefan not being located: not everyone always gets a happy ending. I'll leave it to the readers to guess what happened with him.**


	19. Bonus: Men Don't Cry

**This is my parting gift to you. Someone said they wanted to know how and what Damon thought/felt, so here it is: Damon's view on the events. Hope you like the surprise.**

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><p><em>Made a wrong turn once or twice<em>

_Dug my way out, blood and fire_

_Bad decisions, that's alright_

_Welcome to my silly life_

_Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood_

_~ Fuckin' Perfect by Pink_

* * *

><p><strong>~ Men Don't Cry ~<strong>

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><p>Growing up with Giuseppe Salvatore sucked. Actually, <em>sucked <em>is probably too nice of a word to describe that hellish period of my life. I considered suicide more times than a kid that I was back then should, every time chickening out at the very last moment. One time I'd gotten my hands on a bottle of pills; I was about to down them all at once when a thought occurred to me: _Hope._

Such a funny, puny little word, yet one powerful enough to get me to stay in that nightmare that I called life. But I was a kid then. Kids are stupid, so no surprise there that I'd be idiotic enough to allow that inferno to continue. Had I been just a little bit older, I probably would have gone through with it.

Through all that misfortune I had two people in my life that I could turn to, two people whom I loved more than anything and who loved me just as much: my mother and my little brother, Stefan. The Salvatore brothers – best of friends. That's what we were known as. Our mother's proud and joy, and thorns in our father's eyes.

To be fair, Giuseppe always seemed to like Stefan more than me, treated him better, and by that I mean he'd give him ten lashes for offenses for which I would've gotten something like fifty. It may have had something to do with Stefan being compliant. He was always the nice guy, good little daddy's boy who rarely disobeyed, and broke the rules only and purely by accident.

Me, on the other hand… I was a rebel, never afraid to stand up for myself and always ready to speak out of line and break the simplest of rules just to see how far I could go. Pushing buttons, they'd called it. Daring. Challenging. Pushing the limits. I guess that's exactly what I'd been doing.

And I liked it.

Needless to say, breaking rules came with consequences. Torture. Whips. Belts. Chains. Shackles. You name it and I've been through it. As I grew older, you could rarely see me around without some fresh cut or bruise, a reminder of whatever misdeed I've committed under my father's keen eye.

Let me tell you, it was hell. Pain was hell. I despised it at first, but with time I learned to enjoy it. It's easier to cope with open, bleeding wounds if you pretend, and eventually learn to like them. With time you start yearning for the rush that comes with every crack of the whip, get addicted to that adrenaline as your skin's being mercilessly torn and ripped apart. There's still pain, but you love it, ravish in it, and let it consume you in most terrible yet delicious of ways.

I liked pain. It felt good, and at times it made me feel alive, like I have a purpose. I was just like _them,_ only born under an unlucky star. Bleeding proved it; injuries proved it. Truth is, all human beings react the same in times of distress, and I clung to that little bit of realization to keep myself alive.

Still, even if I learned to enjoy it, it didn't mean it still didn't hurt. To say it stung like a bitch would be an understatement. Tears would often come against my will, fall down my cheeks no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. It was a natural reaction, an instinct that took some time for me to learn how to keep under control.

"Look at you! Such a disappointment!" my father spat as he struck at me. I can't remember what I'd done to deserve that, but it was probably worth it. I was crying my eyes out, my cheeks red, eyes swollen, at the same time craving the pain, each strike bringing me unimaginable pleasure. "You call yourself a man? Men don't cry!"

So I decided to be a man. From that moment on I never shed a tear. I endured my punishments with a stoic, emotionless expression, completely numb on the outside. The inside was a different story. I was burning with desire to strike back, my emotions spinning out of control, a storm cooking inside my very heart, but I kept it in.

I was, after all, a man.

And men don't cry.

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><p>I allowed myself to cry that very last day. Father had grown tired of Stefan and me, saying we were old enough to work <em>for real <em>(as if what we'd been doing for him wasn't real enough), so he decided to sell us.

My mother enveloped Stefan and me in a hug that day, her arms holding us without the intention of ever letting go. Out of them both, I was closer to my mom. It's strange how much she loved us, given that our _father_ had forced himself upon her multiple times in order to conceive us. We were both accidents, but the old man was too proud to force his slave to abort, so he had her carry us to term.

As a very small child I thought that was a sign that at least part of him loved us. Now I know he just needed four more hands to do his dirty work, two more people to earn money from by selling us.

"It's time," Giuseppe barked, stepping into the living room, followed by some unpleasant, nasty looking men,

"No," mother whispered, her grip on us tightening.

Growling, father lunged at us, pulling us by the arms, ripping us straight out of our mother's arms. We tried to resist, but the more we squirmed and shouted, the rougher he was getting. His perfectly manicured nails dug deep into the skin on my forearm and I was sure the place would bruise later on. Not like I wasn't used to it.

"My boys! Please, don't take them away!" mother begged. "Please! Let me hold them just one more time!"

"Mother!" I called.

"Mama!" Stefan exclaimed.

"Silence!" Giuseppe snarled, pushing us away, throwing us down. The men with him took each of us by the arm, their grips firm, stern. It was then that I knew that that hell of a life would continue; I was exiting a word of pain, only to enter another one just as cruel and vicious, if not more.

"Damon! Stefan!" mother screamed, her face stained with tears. Father came up to her with a whip, striking her again and again, her body limply falling down after what I think was the twentieth lash. She was a mess of blood, yet she still begged for us, silently pleaded to hold our hands just one more time.

Neither of us had time to say proper goodbye. I looked back in panic and fear as they took Stefan and me away, my mother's screams echoing loud enough to be heard on the busy streets.

He could've at least sold us to the same owner to keep us together. Shows just how much of a monster he was.

But I wasn't going down without a fight. I've earned myself a nice collection of scars over the years, and I don't regret a single one. One thing I do regret, and always will, is not saying that proper fucking goodbye to the person who carried me for nine months, soothed my fears, and nurtured my wounds in secret.

I'd give anything to get just one more hour with her, but you know what they say: life's a big, fat bitch with a twisted sense of humor.

* * *

><p>I've changed many owners, been to many homes, endured many different punishments until I was purchased by the woman by the name of Pearl Zhu. She was a classy lady in her mid-thirties, soft spoken, well read and very obviously highly educated. She had her own Pharmacy and was wealthy enough to buy as many slaves as she desired.<p>

Out of all people she went for me. My previous owner had warned her about my _attitude, _as he'd called it, but she said she was up for the challenge, claimed that I'm not the first one that'd require some persuasion to get me in line. I couldn't suppress a smirk at the sound of that. I liked them feisty; made it all the more satisfying to see them lose their mind when I do something nasty just to piss them off and earn myself a few lashes.

Pearl had given me my own room, which was a rarity as we, the slaves, usually slept in dirty old sheds on rags we'd call beds. It was a very nice bedroom, stylish and modernly decorated, reeked of money she was loaded with and wasn't afraid to show off.

For a time she was nice, dealt with my attitude problems without the need to punish me much; she's only whipped me ten times in the first month I was with her, much to my surprise. Usually I'd get it every second day or so as I seemed to get off on the high breaking the rules brought me.

Then one day Pearl burst into the kitchen where I was supposed to be doing chores, but instead opted for stealing the food from the fridge just for the hell of it. That lady had some wicked tastes in everything. I've broken into her cellar a few times (only got caught once) and stolen quite a lot of expensive bourbon which I've found myself rather fond of.

"Ten PM, I want you in my room," she said in a no-nonsense tone, and I just nodded, baffled by the sudden request. A different slave was usually in charge of her room at night, but come to think of it, I hadn't seen him lately. I figured she sold him and wanted me as replacement.

Whatever she was doing with that guy that late at night in her room always puzzled me. I had my suspicions that things got steamy in there. I heard suggestive noises a few times, but never dared to pry. I may have been reckless, but I knew my boundaries. I usually went to steal bourbon when the noises would start as I figured Pearl would be too preoccupied to hear me sneak out of my room and break into her treasure cellar.

It was only when I showed up at the designated place in designated time that I realized my suspicions were actually facts. Pearl sat on her queen-size bed, clad in clothes that I can only describe as a mixture of something out of a badly written BDSM book and Playboy Bunny cover girl. I had to admit: despite being well into her thirties, she was still hot as hell.

"Come here, Damon," she said, her voice tough, stern, a tone I had gotten used to in the past month. She patted the bed right next to her and I sat down, confusion written all over my handsome face. I may have liked flirting and hot ladies, but there were things that I just wouldn't do – having sex against my or the other party's will being number one of them.

Why did I have a feeling that that was exactly what she wanted from me?

Probably because not a moment later it proved to be true. Pearl put a hand on my thigh, gently caressing it, and cold, frightened shivers went down my spine like a swarm of butterflies. She slowly moved to my crotch, then up my stomach and finally to my face. She cupped my naturally rosy cheeks that were now the color of tomatoes and pressed a kiss to each, her touch leaving burning, stinging marks on my flawless skin.

She reached for my shirt, slowly unbuttoning it, a playful smile decorating her beautiful face. My mind was screaming, emotions spiraling out of control. I didn't want this. I didn't want her this close to me, touching me the way she was, kissing me so kindly as if it would erase that fact that despite being one of my better masters, she had still resorted to whips when it came to punishing me.

I could do a lot of things, but having sex with the person who abused me? No fucking way.

So I pushed her away. She glared at me, enraged at my refusal, and swung at me with all the strength she could muster, the forceful slap making my head turn. Her sharp nails nickedmy skin and I felt blood dripping down the small cut she'd inflicted.

"How dare you?" she snarled, mad as a fury, her pointed nails digging into my wrist as she forcefully grabbed it.

"No," I said just to get my point across. I had an entire vocabulary filled with lots of colorful words I was ready to fire at her, but for now I just wanted to test the tides. "I am _not_ having sex with you."

"You think you have a say?" she challenged.

"Fuck you!" I spat.

Her eyebrows raised in a suggestive manner, eyes looking me up and down. "Oh, you will."

I pulled my wrist out of her grip and jumped to my feet, ready to leave this room of horrors. She was quickly behind me, grabbing my arm and throwing me back in the bed with incredible ease, as though I was a practice dummy.

"Fine, if that's how it's going to be," she said, leaning over me, her lips almost touching mine.

"If you want sex, _bitch,_ you're gonna have to do it yourself," I said.

"I will," she agreed, pulling out some leather handcuffs. "I will do it _all_ by myself."

A gulp escaped me as she cuffed me to the bed, leaving me to her mercy. I didn't want this; none of it, none of this fucking hell I had the misfortune to be sold into, none of her stupid-ass body that wasn't even that hot after all as I could, upon closer examination, see some of not so well hidden cellulite on her thighs.

Who would have thought that my first time would be against my will? Guess I was my mother's son after all.

* * *

><p>Ever since then, Pearl had done it almost every night. She'd tie me to her bed, have her way with my body that seemed to refuse my every command, and then kick me out once she's had her fun. I learned to pretend to enjoy it, play along with my highly electrified body that acted against my every instinct as shackles or belts or whatever the psycho bitch though would be funny and exciting (hint: it wasn't. None of it) held me in place. The few times I felt defiant enough to tell her to go to hell, there was always a whip nearby to help <em>inspire<em> me and make me more compliant.

So I let it go.

I felt dirty, defiled, and violated. A part of me even felt guilty. Maybe if I'd fought harder, she wouldn't…

No. It's never the victim's fault. Even though I refused to acknowledge myself as a victim, that's exactly what I was. Pearl was the culprit. And she would get away with every single bit of suffering she'd caused me. Thank you, life, for being such a bitch to me. My sincerest gratitude.

It didn't take long for Pearl to grow bored of me. She claimed it was no fun to do always have to do everything by herself since I refused to make a movement and always closed my eyes, waiting for the nightmare to be over with so I could go to my own bed and feel sorry for myself and go through all my revenge fantasies (trust me, there were plenty) for the entirety of the night when I should be sleeping.

She wanted to break me and each and every attempt was unsuccessful, so she finally accepted her defeat by deciding to sell me.

Her loss.

Pearl's friend's father was looking for a birthday present for his daughter and Pearl was kind enough to sell me for cheap. Slaves were common birthday presents, especially if the birthday in question happened to be eighteenth. Growing girls have needs that are now legally available to them (not that anyone cared if there were illegal activities involved). I just hoped I wouldn't have the same _luck _I had with Pearl.

"Oh, my god!" a sweet-voiced girl said as she saw me, absorbing my beauty with her gorgeous, doe-like chocolate eyes. I've gotten used to those kinds of looks; when you're a handsome stud like me, you get used to a lot of things, both the good and the bad kind.

I took her hand, kissing its top, and said in my fakest voice ever: "Nice to meet you, Miss Petrova. Happy birthday."

"Nice to meet you, too," she said kindly, her natural Bulgarian accent showing in traces. "Drop the titles. Just call me Katherine."

I slightly bowed, still in disbelief of this girl's charm. I've been welcomed into many families, but never like this. There was something about this girl that made me a bit too eager to start working here. What was wrong with me?

"He's perfect. Thank you, father!" Katherine exclaimed, throwing herself into her father's embrace. I didn't like that man. He seemed rather stern and strict, looked like the kind of person who rarely showed emotions. To sum it up, I thought he was a cold-hearted, merciless bastard judging by one look at him alone.

* * *

><p>As had Pearl, Katherine had given me my own, very luxurious room. "You like it?" she asked as I looked around.<p>

I nodded, not saying anything. I wasn't sure what to say. Normally I would start spewing out bullshit at my newest master just to see how long it'd take them to reach for the whip, but there was something different about her. For some unknown reason I felt compelled to be nice to her, to return the kindness her very presence had given me.

"Come here," she said, taking me by the hand. I shivered at the touch, surprised to see her act so nonchalant about it. Usually when masters dragged slaves somewhere, they'd grab and pull, and do their best to dig nails into skin out of pure sadistic enjoyment. She was gentle. Too gentle for it to be real. "I want you to meet my other slave. I also got him for my birthday."

"How nice," I said, not able to resist the sarcasm.

Katherine just giggled. "You'll like him."

Sure enough, I liked him. But only because it turned out to be my fucking brother. The two of us exchanged hugs we'd been yearning for for years, much to Katherine's amazement. I could see a small smirk creep onto her lips as she realized she had two brothers at her disposal, for her very own, for her to do what she pleased with.

Months passed like minutes and I found myself enjoying the Petrova household. I decided to drop the sarcasm and attitude for most of the time, doing as told without much argument, for once not being a difficult prick that I usually was. It worked in my favor. At times when I did act out and provoked Katherine's father to punish me, she was quick to jump to my defense. Needless to say, I enjoyed being painless and woundless for those few months.

As much as I loved pain, I loved much more to be without it.

Katherine spent most of her time with Stefan, but I didn't mind much. With her it was Stefan the moment she saw us. No surprise there; it was always Stefan. Even with our father, it was Stefan. I'd gotten used to it and decided to ignore it.

Sure, sometimes I'd feel a bit jealous, but I made sure not to show it. I'd finally gotten myself a nice family to work for and I didn't want to let petty feelings ruin it.

Katherine taught me to drive and got me a driver's license that would prove to be very useful in the future. I was allowed freedom I've never experienced before and it felt fucking good to finally have some degree of control over my own life. I was living the best life a slave like me could ever get a chance to live and I couldn't have been happier.

Then one time, after serving her coffee, Katherine kissed me. It was a quick peck on the lips, but it affected me, made me realize just why those weird emotions clouded my judgment at times. I was falling for her. No, I _had_ fallen for her. I was already in too deep when that first kiss happened.

Neither of us said a thing. We just smiled at each other and I kept on doing the rest of my chores, pretending the moment before had never happened.

But it had. And it kept on happening almost every single day. We'd hide somewhere and kiss, away from prying eyes. She'd take me to her room under the excuse it needs to be cleaned, when the only thing we'd do there would be exchanging drool and shoving out tongues down each other's throat.

It was the best time of my life. I wish it was allowed to last.

* * *

><p>"Damon," Katherine said softly that fateful night, entering my room just as I was about to go to sleep. I turned to her, looking her all over before crashing my lips against hers, the wild, rebellious side of me showing, wanting to take her right then and there.<p>

Turns out, she had similar ideas.

"Stay," I practically begged, rushing us to my bed, my tongue slipping over her silky, olive-toned skin, already in delirium from the small dosage of the drug that was Katerina Petrova.

"My room," she panted, her heartbeat racing so fast that I could feel it against my chest that was pressed against hers. "Do you want to?"

"Let's go," I quickly said. I just wanted to have her for myself; I guess there was this vicious part of me that was glad it was me and not Stefan who got to have her first.

We were quick to kick our clothes off and throw ourselves to her bed, our arms wrapped around us, lips engaged in time-collapsing kisses. God, was she magnificent. She knew just what to do, how to do it right, and how to make it feel so fucking good without resorting to the use of force. I've had lots of nonconsensualsex with Pearl and it could never compare to this goodness. Katherine let me be in control, allowed me to lead, to take any direction I wanted, and I instantly found myself addicted to it.

It felt good to be in control for once. If only I'd known I'd regret it the first thing tomorrow morning.

* * *

><p>Let me tell you, I've had plenty rough awakenings in my lifetime, but never one such as the one back then. "Katherine, what's going on?" I inquired, genuinely surprised, frightened beyond belief. I had no idea what was going on, just that Katherine's father grabbed onto me and threw me to the dead cold ground like a rag doll.<p>

"Bastard! Piece of shit! I should have listened to Pearl when she warned me about you!" he barked, and for the first time in ages I was in genuine fear for my life. I still had no idea what was happening; everything was just too sudden, my thoughts still blurred from being forcefully awaken.

"I didn't do anything!" I tried. Katherine faced away from me, her tear-stained eyes swollen and red. What the hell?

"He made me do it," she whispered in a wounded-deer tone we all knew was bullshit. Katherine was no wounded little girl and no one could ever make her do anything she didn't want to because she was always up for _anything._

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, suddenly pissed. She better not be implying what I thought she was.

"He wanted sex, said I have to let him sleep with me lest something bad would happen to me."

She was.

That bitch!

"She wanted it!" I pointed out, looking straight into her father's enraged eyes.

"My daughter wanted you to attempt to rape her?!" he snarled, his favorite glass-clad whip ready in his hands. I've seen him use it on other slaves, but not me. Never me. Katherine always took my side. It's only now I realized it was all a game for her, a perfectly thought out plan to gain my trust and betray me just for the hell of it.

"It was no attempted rape! We-we love each other. Tell him, Katherine," I tried, thinking there had to be some good in her left, a trace of humanity and emotions at least resembling kindness. Because it couldn't have all just been a lie. There had to be some truth to it, to what we've been through. Those kisses couldn't have possibly been fake, that passion, those wonderful, tender touches couldn't have all been a part of some twisted game that only a master manipulator like her would dare to play.

"He did it, father. He made me take him to bed," she insisted.

"You lying little bitch!"

"Watch your mouth!" her father snarled, his whip cracking against my back, ripping the skin apart. I let out a scream, my first one in months. I've been hurt before, but never like this, never with these kinds of tools. This fucking hurt more than anything I've ever experienced.

There's only so much a man can take before he breaks. Guess we're back to the breaking-Damon operation I've been through countless of times in the past. No one's ever succeeded to break me, but for some reason I suspected the Petrovas would based on the sole fact that they were fucking Petrovas and there was no messing with them.

There was nothing for me to do to defend myself, or at least attempt to. So I resorted to what I did best – insults. Old fashioned, mouthy insults that always got me in trouble, but seeing as I already was in trouble, I had nothing to lose. And I was always up for a good high.

"You know what, Katherine? You're a shameless, dirty whore, a slutty little bitch hiding behind daddy dearest!"

"Don't you talk about my daughter like that!"

_Crack!_

I ignored him, ignored the pain that graced my back, ignored the blood that gushed out the freshly open cut.

"Can't get a guy willingly, so you resort to manipulation. How… _pathetic,"_ I spat, to her obvious discomfort. I smirked a little; we were getting somewhere here. Finally a reaction out of her that wasn't tears; it was something real, something feisty and wild, and I liked it. "Are you really that desperate to get some that you pretend a _slave _attacked you? Guess sluts don't care who it is as long as they get to open their legs!"

"Shut your mouth!" she screamed, taking the whip from her father and slashing at me.

I laughed like a maniac, that pleasure that always used to accompany pain returning. "Truth hurts, doesn't it, _sweetheart?"_ I grinned. "Because that's what you are: a dirty, STD-ridden slut!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

_Crack!_

"Do it! Come on, show me what you got," I dared. "Show me your real face, _Miss Petrova."_

_Crack!_

"Daddy, make him stop," she whined.

"Yes, _daddy,_ make me stop," I mocked, earning me another lash. And another, and another, until I was completely covered in blood, almost every inch of my skin, save for my face, ripped apart by those wretched shards of glass. Katherine stood aside the entire time, laughing maniacally, enjoying the show before her more than a sane person should.

I was a bloody, trembling mess, but I took it like a man. And didn't cry.

Not even when they dumped me in that goddamn basement of theirs and waited weeks and weeks until my wounds looked partially healed (maybe if you've fed me more than once a day and let me into some sunlight I would've healed faster, assholes) and they put a price tag back on me, and I was bought by some man that strangely resembled a bear-human hybrid, a heritage I wasn't sure I wanted to question because I was pretty sure I was better off not knowing anything about inbreeding or whatever the hell was going on in his freak show of a family.

* * *

><p>I as on sale when the Gilberts stumbled upon me. Mama Gilbert was apparently smitten by my features (who wouldn't be? I mean, look at me) and insisted that they buy me as their daughter's eighteenth birthday present. <em>Here we go again,<em> I thought to myself, memories of Katherine flooding back, bringing back hatred I've tried so hard to suppress and keep at bay.

Because if I let it all go, things would turn nasty, and not for me. Nothing could ever be nasty for me after that ordeal with the glass-whip.

The Gilberts forced some expensive clothes on me and demanded I behave, as they've been warned by my former master (that one also looked like inbreeding gone wrong. What the hell was wrong with those rich people?) about me having difficulties to follow simple rules and obey the smallest of commands. I heard them whisper that challenge like me was just what their daughter needed to learn to live in the world of adults. Yeah, we'll see about that.

The moment I first saw Elena Gilbert I knew there was something different about her. She was just so obviously uncomfortable with me being there, uncomfortable with the fact that she now successfully owned a slave who was none other than me, and she instantly knew that I would be trouble without me even having to say a word. Trouble is my middle name or something. There must be some warning tattoo of it on my forehead to let potential buyers and owners know what they're getting into.

I mean, look at Elena. She was a little princess whose biggest issue was breaking a nail and being late to a date with her annoying girlfriends or something girly and teenage-y like that. Imagine my surprise when she expressed a desire to be my friend. I thought she was joking, but apparently she was serious. That girl had no idea what she was dealing with, what she'd gotten herself into when she made that deal with the handsome devil that I was.

At first I did my best to push her buttons just to see how far she was willing to let me go before she snapped and took the whip. To my surprise, she handled stress quite well. She knew I was testing her and boy, did she play it like a pro. I've gotten myself a good one

What I didn't like, however, was her demanding that I be in her room when she's at school. Normally I'd have no objections; hell, going through her underwear drawers and sniffing her panties and bras in secret was one of my favorite hobbies. But it got old very fast, and I can be pretty hyperactive when I have nothing to do. Old habits die hard.

Elena insisted it was because her parents wouldn't put up with my trouble-making tendencies and that by keeping me inside she was actually protecting me. I called bullshit.

So when she left for school that morning after a pretty fiery argument we had, I decided to do something naughty just because I could, because saint, dear Elena wasn't there to supervise and be all mother hen around me. I remembered seeing old man Gilbert's bottle of bourbon in one of the kitchen cabinets, and I decided to _borrow_ it.

What? I happen to like bourbon. And I like being naughty.

Gilbert caught me and _disciplined_ me, his wife lending a helping hand here and there. Again, I didn't cry. Men don't cry and as a proud member of the male species, I didn't. Yuppies for me. Do I get a cookie now? 'Cause I sure as hell deserved it after that shitstorm that was that beating.

Elena was absolutely pissed when she returned home; not at me (much to my surprise), but at her parents. Okay, so maybe she was a bit pissed at me, but only because I'd gotten myself into that mess in the first place and with her being all Mother Theresa she couldn't help but feel bad for me. She even asked for a chance to be my friend while cleaning my wounds, something no one but my mother (and sometimes brother) did when I was a kid. What the hell?

After what her mommy and daddy dearest had done to me, she had the audacity to ask for a chance? Who was she trying to fool? Certainly not me. Though I gotta admit, the girl was good. Careful, caring, would make a fine nurse one day – the kind that wipes old people's asses and feeds them through straws. Great. Now every time I look at Elena, I'm gonna picture her wiping some old man's ass with a big smile on her face because it seemed like something an actress such as her would do, and would even dare to feel proud of the feat.

Still, her sweet talking and concern that appeared to be genuine managed to persuade me into giving her a chance. Now that I look at it, I made the right choice. But then? It felt like a deal with the devil, only the devil seamed more appealing than a teenage girl that just so happened to fucking own me. Because I was that nasty.

What can I say? When you grow up a slave, you pick up a few things along the way. The number one rule is: don't trust anyone who tries to persuade you to trust them. You'll get burnt. Badly. It's called experience, my darlings, and I've had plenty.

I guess after all that time I just needed someone to care about me. Humans are social beings and I happen to be an unfortunate specimen of the kind, and Elena's sugar-coated words and tender touches somehow got to me. I have never before in my life had someone tend to my wounds in such a gentle manner. The feeling was good. I liked to be taken care of. I was proud to admit it (still am), but sometimes I just needed a little push and _bam,_ I was that scared little boy all over again, eager for approval from whoever happened to own me and yearning for kindness that I knew I would never have.

Because I was born that way.

Elena, whom I assumed was pretending back then, was different. She was kind, gentle, sweet, dream girl of every boy and perfect material for bad guys such as myself to corrupt. What can I say? Every bad boy who holds his reputation dear should make at least one good girl go bad in his lifetime. Elena was that girl for me.

And corrupt her I did, only not in the way I imagined. Corruption had never felt so good before, and it was all because of her. No matter how much she hurt me, the pain she'd cause wasn't something I'd get used to and pretend to like. I loved it from the moment those empty little threats left her mouth, had a high when her palm had a close encounter with my cheek and somehow managed to make my lip bleed.

Okay, so I was pissed about the slap, but only because I felt betrayed. In a way she _did _betray me. There was no excuse for what she did and even now, all these years later, I still hear her apologize for it. The girl will never let herself live it down. Still, a part of me liked that smack, because it satisfied my ego (that has grown quite a lot since then, thank you very much) and for at least a few days gave me back that rush of danger I always seemed to be in, because slaves are often in danger and we learn to cope with it the only way we can: acceptance.

We accept the pain as it comes and don't think too much about it. With time it becomes an addiction. Mine slowly went away the more I got to meet Elena, and within a few months I was cured. The others aren't so lucky.

Knowing her turned into another addiction, but this one was much, much healthier. We got addicted to each other; still are. It's like a never ending mating ritual that we take part of every chance we get, because even as grown, responsible adults that we now are, there is still a hint of young joy when it comes to sex. Sex is always good. Especially when you're having sex with me, the self-proclaimed god of sex, devilishly handsome Eros in human form.

No one regrets having sex with Damon Salvatore. If you don't believe me, ask Elena if she'd ever had any complaints when it came to our… sexual activities (because if I said "intercourse", it'd make me come off as some rich, college-aged posh boy wearing only cardigans and ugly-ass sweaters that his mom made for him). What's that? Can't hear you. No complaints?

Told you.

Now you, my dear reader, owe me a bottle of finest bourbon.

Elena was always there for me from day one. She rushed to my aid whenever I happened to be in pain; fuck, she once even jumped in the way of a lash that was meant for me. She held my hand during that horror show of a trial that she initiated on my behalf, because she loved me and chose me over her own flesh and blood, and promised to protect me and keep me safe at all costs because she cared.

She cared about me, and I cared about her. No, I _loved_ her. It went against all rules in the slave guidebook, against my every instinct, but I couldn't help falling for her. She let me be myself around her, let me cry when I felt the need to without pesky, hurtful remarks about my masculinity, allowed me to be bad for her despite my many warnings that bad guys don't make ideal boyfriends.

I was taught that men don't cry, yet I broke down in her arms that day in the hospital. The pressure was just too high and I had to let it out one way or another lest I'd burst. And she let me, even encouraged me to let all my emotions out, my angel's arms wrapped around me in what was the gentlest hug I've ever received, and it felt so fucking good to finally be allowed to relieve myself of everything that hurt. She kept repeating that she was there, muttering promises that she'd always be there, and for the first time in my miserable life I felt like I mattered.

It was good to be cared for, and not by just anyone, but by her: my goddess, my savior, my everything.

I was weak and pathetic, shaking like a child, a broken mess of a man I used to be and yet none of it mattered to her. She loved me, all of me, for _me._ She wasn't ashamed to admit it in public, to kiss me in front of an entire school full of dumbass, bigoted morons, and make out with me in front of a courtroom much to the surprise of those same morons' grown up family members who showed up just for the show, to watch me squirm as they believed the case would be overthrown on the base than I was a slave and, as such, had no rights.

It was Elena who held my hand when our car rushed off the bridge when her genius parents thought it would be a good idea to push us off the road as some sort of revenge or whatever, the reason which we'll never find out because they fucking died in the river they wanted us to drown in. Nice going, fuckers. Guess karma is a bitch after all.

For a moment there I thought I'd lost Elena. I'll never forget that sad look on her face as she glanced around for me, no doubt wanting to see me one last time before darkness swallowed her for all eternity. I was right behind her as I managed to free myself; I undid her seatbelt and pulled her out with ease, took her ashore and shook her until I was sure she'd stay with me.

Because I needed her to stay. I was that selfish. If she was to die, I'd die shortly after. I could never go through life without her, not after so much has happened, after we survived what no normal person should.

Luckily, she was in the mood to stay.

I didn't mind when she cried against my chest after learning of her asshole parents' demise, because that's how caring she was. She still loved the people who'd caused her such harm. I was fine with comforting her; it was the least I could do after all she'd done for me, after all bullshit I'd had her go through because I was an insensitive jerkass with a twisted sense of humor and suspicious morals, and she still kept on giving me chances, clinging to the good she knew rested within me.

Hell, I even went to the goddamn funeral as support. People stared, glared, gossiped, doing small-town people things that always annoyed me, but I kept quiet for Elena's sake. I was there for her, not them. For all I cared, they could all go straight to hell and never come back. I kept my mouth shut for most of the time, but trust me, it was difficult. Her parents deserved to die for what they did to me, for what they did to us, and I would have been perfectly fine with giving a speech and expressing just how much I despised them.

But I didn't.

For her.

She knew it. I knew it. But I still kept my opinions to myself because even though she tried to get me to talk bad about them, I knew she just wanted to keep the good memories and erase the bad from her head. I understood that. She was dealing with a lot. It was only natural for everything to be so fucking complicated because we're human and most humans feel bad for the departed despite them being complete jackasses in their pathetic lives.

Besides, how could I ever be mad at the girl who fought, and eventually managed to free me? As in, make me _not_ a slave anymore. She'd accomplished that. She even bought me a house, paid for everything, made friends with our lawyer, and a few years later suggested we search for my brother so he, too, can be freed.

Our search for Stefan was futile, but still, it's the thought that counts.

So yeah, I love her. Say what you want, but I want that girl beside me at all times, want her hand in mine as I lay dying an old and balding man, because that's just something she'd do if I asked her to. I want to spend my life with her. I want this love, this passion we share that can't be more wrong – because at times we bark at each other like a couple of dogs (yeah, I just subtly called Elena a bitch. Sue me) and then ten minutes later we're lip-locking and promising the world to each other – to last for all eternity.

I want to keep this madness going even after we pass on to the Other Side.

I want us, Damon Salvatore and Elena Gilbert, to be forever.

* * *

><p><strong>There you go, folks. The end. Fin. Kraj. No more. This is it, my darlings. Delena's over, happy as hell and, at the moment, having some delicious Delena sex we all know and love.<strong>

**Thank you for sticking with this story till the very end!** **I owe a huge, special gratitude for every review, favorite, and/or follow. Your comments, great wishes, and everything else you said and/or did is appreciated. I would also like to thank everyone who offered me help with grammar and pointed out mistakes. I learned a lot thanks to you and I owe you big time for helping me with English.**


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